








* 


\ 





SCOTT BURTON 
FORESTER 


f 












“ Good shot, old man,” 


he cried to Morgan. 

[Page 53J 



SCOTT BURTON 
FORESTER 


BY 

EDWARD G. CHEYNEY 

f* 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

NORMAN ROCKWELL 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK LONDON 


1917 



COPTBIGHT, 1917 , BT 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



fiPR Id 1317 

Printed in the United States of America 


©CI.A457968 

'VH. /< 


TO 

MY BROTHER 

Whose broad-minded views 
Have had an ever-present influence on my life 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘ Good shot, old man,” he cried to Morgan . Frontispiece 


y 


By night they had . . . camped within sight of the 

lights of Red Wing 116 v 


His instinct was to run . . . but he stood there too ter- 
rified to move 182 


/ 


/ 


He waved his knife threateningly, and tried to warn 
Scott off 272 






SCOTT BURTON 
FORESTER 


CHAPTER I 

H ELLO, Scotty, have you decided yet 
which one it will be?” Dick Brad- 
shaw called, eagerly, as he ran up the 
walk to the old Burton home. He had been away 
for two weeks, and when he left, the selection of a 
forest school for Scott had been the all absorbing 
question. 

“ Yes,” Scott answered, “ it was decided a week 
ago. You know there never has been any doubt 
in my mind. I picked out the Western college in 
the first place, but father and mother did not want 
me to go so far away from home. I persuaded 
them last week that it was the best thing to do, and 
they consented.” 

Dick's face fell. “ That means I shall not see you 
for four years,” he growled. 

“ Oh no, Dick,” Scott answered quickly, “ not 
over three at the most, and possibly not over two. 

i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


That was what persuaded father and mother to let 
me go. You see they may give me enough extra 
credit for that extra high school work and those 
three years of summer school we took, to enable me 
to squeeze through in two years. I have sent in my 
credits, and shall find out when I get there.” 

Dick brightened up a little. The boys had grown 
up together in the little New England village, the 
closest of friends, and the idea of a long separation 
was pretty hard, especially for the one who was to 
stay at home. They had always had the same 
tastes in books, studies and pleasures. Both were 
hard students and both preferred long walks in the 
woods and fields to the games that most boys play. 
These traits had kept them somewhat apart from 
the other boys, and thrown them almost exclusively 
on each other’s society. 

“ When do you go ? ” Dick asked. 

“ Early tomorrow morning,” Scott answered. 
“You see it takes two days to get there. I was 
afraid you would not get back in time for me to see 
you at all.” 

“Tomorrow!” Dick exclaimed indignantly. 
“Why didn’t you pick out Yale? You could have 
come home once in a while then, and we could have 
had a great time together there next year.” Dick 


2 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


was planning on taking some special work in biology 
at Yale the next season. 

Scott was stung by the reproach in Dick’s voice. 
“ You know perfectly well I would have done it if 
I could. Yale has a graduate school and I could 
not get in. Why don’t you come out with me?” 

“ Maybe I shall if you find out that it is any 
good. Why do you want to go to a place that you 
do not know anything about?” Dick remonstrated. 

“ But I do know something about it, Dick. I 
know that it is in a new country that I have never 
seen, that it has a good reputation, and that a large 
part of the work is given in camp. What more do 
you want ? ” 

“ Well,” Dick answered, “ that camp part sounds 
good to me and if the biology is taught in a camp 
I may be out there with you next year. You find 
out about that and let me know. I have to be go- 
ing now. I just came up on the way from the 
train to find out what you had decided. Mother is 
waiting for me. See you later.” And he hurried 
down the walk. 

“ Come over after supper,” Scott called after him 
and walked slowly into the house. This thing of 
leaving Dick when he was taking it so hard was the 
toughest pull of all. He knew Dick through and 
3 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


through, and he suddenly realized that he did not 
know anything about any of the people where he 
was going. His intimate knowledge of boys was 
limited almost entirely to Dick, and he felt a certain 
timidity in meeting so many strangers. 

As he entered 'the old home where he had always 
lived he felt that it was dearer to him than he knew, 
in spite of the fact that he was so eager to leave it. 
His father was a doctor there in the little village 
of Wabern, Mass., a man devoted to his profession, 
which yielded a large amount of work with a small 
income. He had always taken it for granted that 
his only child would follow in his footsteps, and 
for many years he had tried in every way to in- 
terest the boy in his work. He had taken him on 
many a long drive on the rounds of his work and 
tried to impress on him the beauties of healing 
sickness and alleviating pain. It was not till Scott 
was a strapping big fellow of sixteen that the as- 
tonished father realized that his boy had drifted 
hopelessly away from the medical profession. 

He had noted with pride Scott’s collection of 
plants, bugs, small animals and rocks, and the boy’s 
love for such things pleased him. It came to him 
as a shock when he discovered that the boy’s point 
of view was entirely different from his own. For 
4 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


him the specimens were all related in some way 
to the medical profession ; to Scott they represented 
only the different phases of nature. It was the 
make-up of the great “ outdoors ” which interested 
him, and he longed to be a part of it. It was the 
opportunity of such a life that first attracted him 
toward forestry, and his mind once made up he bent 
all his energies to preparing for the work. His 
father and mother concealed their disappointment 
as best they could and helped him along in this un- 
known line of work. 

At last the time had come when a special course 
at college was necessary, and the question of which 
school had to be decided. Scott’s lack of a degree 
barred him from the graduate schools of the East, 
and in his heart he was rather glad of it. He knew 
every plant, animal and rock in that section of the 
country and was eager for new fields to conquer. 
The greater proportion of actual woods work was 
a further incentive. With these things in mind he 
had studied the catalogs of the different schools by 
the hour, and had finally decided on Minnesota. 
His parents had objected at first on account of the 
distance from home but they had finally yielded to 
his wish. 

And now the question was settled. His applica- 

5 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

tion had been accepted, Dick had given a grudg- 
ing approval, and he was actually packing up to 

go- 

In the hall he met his father, a mild-eyed man 
of fifty, just returning from his daily round of 
mercy. 

“ Well, Scott,” he said cheerfully, “ you are leav- 
ing the old nest and taking a pretty long flight for 
the first one. See that you fly straight, boy. Your 
mother and I have done all that we can to develop 
your wings, and the rest of it is up to you. Let’s 
go to dinner.” 

Mrs. Burton was waiting for them in the dining- 
room. She was very tired from the work of pre- 
paring Scott for his journey, and blue at the thought 
of losing him, but she smiled her sweetest smile, 
and did her best to cheer the boy’s last meal at 
home. There was nothing unusual about the din- 
ner, but Scott felt a certain close companionship 
with his father and mother, an equality, that he 
had never felt before. It gave him a new feeling 
of confidence and responsibility that no amount of 
lecturing could have done. 

Before they arose from the table the doctor said : 
“ Here’s something for you to remember, Scott. 
You already know that book knowledge is not every- 
6 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

thing. You know that a great deal can be learned 
from nature, but there is one important source of 
knowledge that you must not neglect. You are go- 
ing where there will be hundreds of young men, 
men of all kinds and character. They will be a 
good sample of the men of the world, and it is im- 
portant that you should know them. Do not do 
there as you have done here at home, pick one man 
for your constant companion and be indifferent to 
all the others. You must know them all. Study 
some of them for the good traits that you ought 
to have, and others for the bad traits that you want 
to avoid. You can learn something from everyone 
of them. You must learn from them how to take 
a man’s measure for yourself and not have to rely 
on the judgment of others. If you learn to judge 
men truly your success in other things will be pretty 
certain. 

“ Just one thing more. You have insisted on 
taking up work that is different from the life I had 
always planned for you. Perhaps you think that 
I am hurt and resent it. That is not true. I want 
you to feel that I have every confidence in your 
judgment and ability to make a success of anything 
you undertake even when you choose something of 
which I am entirely ignorant. This new work 
7 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

should prepare you to make some use of wild land, 
as I understand it, and I am going to make you a 
proposition. 

“ That ten thousand-acre tract of cut-over forest 
in New Hampshire that your grandfather left us 
should be made to produce something. I am willing 
to give you this tract for your own on two condi- 
tions. The first is that you successfully complete 
your course and pass your Civil Service examina- 
tions as a proof of your training; and second, that 
you show your ability to pick responsible men for 
your companions. Of the latter I shall have to be 
the judge. Fill those two conditions and the land 
is yours.” 

For the life of him Scott could not find anything 
to say. It was the first time his father had ever 
spoken to him in that way, as one man to another 
and it choked him up queerly. He could not even 
thank his father for the offer. He was relieved 
when Dick Bradshaw came in and went with him 
to his room to help finish packing and look over 
his equipment. 

The two boys talked till almost midnight over 
the possibilities of the western country and the new 
things that would be found there. The necessity 
of Scott’s catching an early train finally forced them 
8 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


to separate with many a promise of a very active 
correspondence. 

Scott slept like a top till his mother called him 
at four o'clock. The train was due at five-fifteen, 
and everything had to be done in a rush. His 
mother preferred it so. Almost before he knew 
it he had eaten a hurried breakfast, had hastened to 
the station, and was looking out of the car window 
into the hazy morning with the brave tones of his 
mother’s voice still ringing in his ears, “ Good-bye, 
Scott. Remember how you have lived and write 
me what you do. As long as you can do that you 
are safe.” 

All day long he sat with his nose almost glued 
against the windowpane noting every change in 
topography and speculating on the geological for- 
mation. Occasionally he thought of his father’s in- 
junction and tore himself away from the window 
long enough to notice the people around him. The 
country outside was of much greater interest to 
him, but there kept ringing through his brain con- 
tinuously, “ I will give you that ten thousand-acre 
tract.” Surely no other boy had ever had such a 
chance as that. It was as big as many a German 
national forest. 

About noon of the second day he passed through 

9 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


St. Paul, and on to Minneapolis. A thrill passed 
through Scott as he realized that he was actually 
west of the Mississippi River. 

Scott hastened' from the train with the rest of 
the passengers, and pushed his way through the 
crowded gate into the station. He was burning to 
see the College he had been dreaming about for so 
long. He had no idea where it was located but 
he felt certain that a College which had attracted 
him from such a great distance must be a matter 
of pride to all the citizens and very easily found. 

He walked to the first street corner and asked a 
passerby. “ Can you tell me the way to the Forest 
School ?” 

The stranger stopped abruptly. “ The what ? ” 

“ The Forest School.’" 

“ To the Forest School,” the man repeated won- 
deringly. “ No, I’m afraid I can’t. I am a 
stranger here myself. Never heard of it.” 

Scott tried another man with a busy up-to-date 
air. “ Pardon me, can you tell me the way to the 
Forest School?” 

The man passed on with an indifferent look and 
paid no further attention to him. 

“ Humph,” Scott thought. “ City manners seem 
to be different from ours at home.” 


io 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


He watched a few people pass by and selected 
for his next victim ar\ elderly gentleman with a 
kindly face and a leisurely air. 

“ Pardon me, sir, can you tell me the way to the 
Forest School ? ” 

The old gentleman stopped courteously and apol- 
ogized for not quite catching the question. 

Scott repeated it. 

The old man shook his head doubtfully. “ Never 
heard of it, my boy. What sort of a place is it? ” 

Scott was beginning to think that he must have 
come to the wrong city. However, the old gentle- 
man was exceedingly polite, and the boy tried to 
explain. “ It is a school where they train foresters, 
sir.” 

“ Oh,” said the old gentleman in a rather doubtful 
tone. “ Strange I have never heard of it. Let’s 
ask the policeman.” 

They consulted that dignitary, but he had never 
heard of it and could find no clue in his little yellow 
book. 

Suddenly the old man seemed to have an inspira- 
tion. “Isn’t part of the University, is it?” he 
asked. 

" Why, certainly it is,” Scott blurted indignantly. 
The ignorance of these people was remarkable. 


ii 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Oh well, then,” said the old gentleman, “ that’s 
easy. Take that car right there and get off at 
Fourteenth Street. You can see it from there.” 

Scott thanked him and hurried into the car. He 
felt that his troubles were over at last and he would 
soon be a duly registered embryo forester. The 
University loomed up big as he left the car at Four- 
teenth Street, and the gayly dressed students were 
wandering everywhere in the idleness of registra- 
tion day. 

Scott tackled an amiable looking fellow and once 
more inquired the way to the Forest School. The 
amiable student stopped and grinned at him sym- 
pathetically. “ Well now, old man, that’s too bad. 
You are miles off your course.” 

Scott’s face fell. “ Why, isn’t this the Univers- 
ity ? ” he asked. 

“ Certainly this is the University,” answered the 
wise one, “ but the Forest School is part of the Agri- 
cultural Department, and that is miles away at the 
end of yonder carline. Take the car back the way 
you came clear to the end of the carline, and you’ll 
find the Agricultural College half a mile beyond 
that.” 

“ Thank you very much,” said Scott gratefully, 
“ you are the first person I have met in the whole 


12 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

city who seems to really know anything about it.” 

“ Don’t mention it, old man,” said his new friend 
with a bow. “ You’ll get there in the end all right.” 

The ride back to the end of the carline seemed 
almost endless, but the fact that one of those splen- 
did young fellows had called him “old man,” and 
the thought that he would soon be one of them 
cheered him up wonderfully. The car came to the 
end of the track at last and he walked down the 
road briskly, eager to be a full-fledged student and 
swagger like the fellow with the red shoes and the 
decorated sweater who had talked to him. He 
could see the buildings on the hill ahead, but was 
rather surprised to find a high board fence around 
the grounds; the gate, too, was locked. A man in 
uniform answered his knock. 

“ Is this the Agricultural College ? ” Scott asked by 
way of an introduction, for he felt sure that it was. 

“ No, sonny,” the man answered with a broad 
grin, “this is the County Poor Farm, and you are 
the fourth man them smart alecks have sent out 
here today. Now you get back on that car you 
just left and tell the conductor to put you off at 
the Agricultural College, and don’t let anybody else 
steer you.” 

Scott thanked him with downcast mien, and 
13 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 




trudged dejectedly back to the car. Visions of that 
gay young sophomore who had called him “ old 
man,” and deceived him so cheerfully floated be- 
fore him in a red haze. He wondered what his 
father would think of his judgment. He swore all 
kinds of vengeance, and it looked for a while as 
though the whole sophomore class was in danger. 

He drew back as the car passed the University 
for fear the sophomore might be waiting to see him 
go by. Sure enough there he was on the corner 
and Scott had a hard time to restrain himself from 
going out to thrash him then and there. He eyed 
the conductor suspiciously when he called the Agri- 
cultural College to try to detect whether he was in 
the general conspiracy against all freshmen. He 
did not feel nearly so sure of the real Agricultural 
College when he saw it as he had of the County 
Poor Farm. However, it was the right place at 
last, and a printed sign pointed the way to the 
registrar’s office. 

Nearly all the students he met on the long wind- 
ing path leading up to the administration building 
were carrying suitcases, and most of them gazed 
nervously about them like strangers in a strange 
land. Scott threaded his way through the crowds 
of students grouped idly around the halls and stair- 

14 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

way. to a place in the long line which was crawling 
slowly past the registrar’s window. A young man 
wearing the badge of the Y. M. C. A. approached 
him and asked if he was looking for a room, but 
Scott remembered the trip to the county poor farm 
too vividly to take any more advice from a student, 
and refused to even discuss the matter with him. 
The crowd in the line was certainly a mixed one, 
and from their appearance he concluded that his 
father was right in saying that they were a good 
sample of nearly all the different kinds of people 
in the world. The large proportion of girls wor- 
ried him a good deal till he found that they were 
registering for domestic science, an entirely separate 
course from his own. He had not been accustomed 
to the idea of coeducation, so popular in the West. 

In due time he reached the window and presented 
his permit. 

“ Scott Burton,” the registrar read in kindly 
tones, “ of Wabern, Mass. I remember your case. 
You have a number of advanced credits. Let’s see. 
Here is the report of your case from the enrollment 
committee. They have allowed you credit for one 
semester of mathematics, four of language, four of 
rhetoric, four of botany, two of geology, two of 
zoology, and two of chemistry. That leaves you 
15 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


only elementary forestry, dendrology, mechanical 
drawing and forest engineering to complete the 
work of the first two years.” 

That was a little better than Scott had even dared 
to hope. He asked eagerly, “ Then I can finish in 
two years? ” 

“ Possibly, you will have to see the Students' 
Work Committee tomorrow about that. They may 
let you take some extra work on probation but you 
will have to drop it if your marks are not up to 
grade at the end of the first four weeks. In the 
meanwhile you will be registered as a freshman. 
Here is your registration card. See that it is filled 
in, and your fees paid by five p. m. tomorrow.” 

“ Thank you,” said Scott. “ Can you tell me 
where I can get some information about a boarding 
house ? ” 

The registrar gave him one of the printed lists 
that the student had tried to give him a little while 
before, and turned to the next student in the line. 

With his registration card in his pocket Scott felt 
more certain of himself again. He was not only 
a student, he was almost a junior, and if the other 
students in the halls had happened to notice him 
they would have seen a very different looking boy 
from the one who had gone in a half-hour before. 

16 


CHAPTER II 


A RMED with the list of rooming houses fur- 
nished him by the registrar Scott set out 
in search of a room. His stock of money 
was limited, and he regretted that his old chum, 
Dick Bradshaw, was not there to share his room, 
and incidentally his room rent. For to Scott, who 
had always lived at home, and never associated very 
closely with many other boys of his own age, the 
selection of a roommate was a problem which he 
considered would require much thought and a 
thorough knowledge of his intended partner. His 
New England conservatism kept him from even 
dreaming of going in with a stranger. 

The search proved rather long and tiresome. 
The upper classmen had picked all the best rooms 
before they left in the spring the year before, and 
the assortment now available was not very attrac- 
tive. Single rooms were hard to find at all and the 
prices something to inspire awe. 

Scott approached a rather attractive little house 
which stood back in a pleasing yard something like 
1 7 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


the one at his home. The usual sign, “ Rooms to 
Rent,” was not in sight, but he rang the bell and 
waited patiently for someone to answer it. Pres- 
ently the door opened a crack and a silver-haired 
old lady eyed him curiously. Her face looked 
kindly enough but the sound of her voice made 
Scott almost jump. 

“ What do you want?” she snapped. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Scott, “ but can you 
tell me where there are any rooms to rent around 
here? ” 

“ No.” Like the crack of a pistol. 

“ They seem to be rather hard to find,” Scott re- 
marked apologetically. 

“ Yes,” the old lady fired at him as she slammed 
the door. “ I guess the people in this park want 
to live in their own houses.” 

Scott gazed at the closed door in astonishment. 
“ Well,” he thought, “ there is one thing sure — I 
should hate to live in yours.” 

He was becoming discouraged, and was turning 
wearily away from the twelfth house — almost the 
last one on his list — when he nearly collided with 
a young fellow who was bounding up the front 
steps three at a jump. 

The landlady took pity on Scott's weary look, and 
18 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


addressed herself to the newcomer. “ Mr. John- 
son, do you know of any place where this young 
man can find a room ? ” 

The young man turned abruptly and ran his eye 
frankly over Scott. “ What’s your course ? ” he 
asked. 

“ Forestry,” Scott answered, wondering what 
that had to do with it. 

“ Sure I do,” said Johnson. “ Come on in with 
me. That’s my course and I am looking for a 
bunkie. Come on up and leave your suitcase and 
then you can see about your trunk.” 

Scott gazed with astonishment at this new species 
of being who would take on a second’s notice a 
roommate whose very name he did not know. But 
that confident and carefree young gentleman was 
already leading the way up the stairs without a 
doubt as to the issue. Scott looked at the landlady 
to see what effect such a sudden proposition had 
made on her. He expected to find her wide-eyed 
and agape with astonishment; instead of that she 
had closed the front door and was disappearing 
down the hall. He would certainly have backed out 
if he had known how, but both the landlady and the 
stranger seemed to be so certain the deal was closed, 
that Scott, dazed by the swift passage of events and 
19 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


seeing no possible way out, followed helplessly up 
the stairs. 

“ Maybe,” he thought, “ it’s one of those dens 
you read about in the newspaper where young fel- 
lows are roped in in this way and robbed. If it is 
they will need more than that red-headed guy to 
do it. Dick could lick the shoes off of him and 
Dick never could box. They would not get very 
much if they succeeded,” he grinned, “ the rail- 
roads already have most of it.” 

When he entered the room indicated he found 
his new acquaintance already seated in a revolving 
chair near the table, reading a large poster. With- 
out raising his eyes from the paper Johnson said, 
“ You may have the two lower drawers of the 
bureau, I already have my stuff in the others, and 
the rignt hand side of the closet. Better go back 
to the registrar’s office and tell them where to bring 
your trunk; they charge you storage awful quick 
at the depot.” And he continued to read the 
poster. 

Scott tried to look the room over carelessly as he 
thought anyone would who was used to renting a 
new one every week or so. He found that he was 
still holding his suitcase in his hand. He looked at 
his roommate to see if he had noticed it, but that 


20 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

indifferent young man was still absorbed in the 
poster and oblivious to his surroundings. Scott set 
the suitcase quietly in the corner and took another 
careless look around the room. 

“ Well, I guess this will do/’ he remarked flip- 
pantly. “ I’ll go see about the trunk.” 

As he was going out the door Johnson called 
after him, “ Hustle back and I’ll take you to our 
hash house. They are nearly all foresters there 
and a couple of them are seniors, too.” 

Scott hurried to the registrar’s office, left word 
about the trunk and started back to his newly ac- 
quired room and roommate, both of which he had 
obtained almost before he knew it and was not yet 
quite certain whether he wanted them or not. 
However, it was a great relief to feel that he had 
some place to go, and he rather thought that he 
liked it. As he was going down the steps a husky, 
sunburned fellow with a swinging gait and the free 
air of the woods joined him. 

“ Getting straightened out ? ” he asked pleas- 
antly. 

“ Yes,” Scott answered, with a readiness that sur- 
prised himself. “ I got a room, a roommate and 
a boarding house, all this afternoon.” He was be- 
ginning to feel a little proud of it. 

21 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“You are lucky,” the other said. “Where are 
you from ? ” 

“ Massachusetts,” said Scott, a little proudly. He 
felt that it was rather a distinction to live so far 
away. He expected to see some show of astonish- 
ment from this stranger, but instead the answer as- 
tonished him. 

“ I expect we are nearly the Eastern and Western 
limits of the School,” he said quietly. “ I am from 
Honolulu. Not much timber left in Massachusetts, 
is there? ” 

Ordinarily Scott would have been very diffident 
with a stranger who accosted him in this way, es- 
pecially after such an experience as he had had that 
morning, but there was a personal magnetism about 
this tall, dark, gentlemanly fellow that made him 
open his rather lonesome heart. 

“ No,” he answered, “ nothing much but second 
growth. How did you know that I was a for- 
ester ? ” 

“ Nothing very mysterious about that. Your 
green registration card is sticking out of your 
pocket. Well, here is where I leave you. So long.” 

Scott found his new home and walked in with an 
independent air of ownership that sent a thrill 
through him. Johnson was waiting impatiently for 


22 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


him. As soon as Scott appeared in the door John- 
son grabbed his hat and started out. “ Hurry up, 
man. You’re late. These hash houses aren’t 
home. If you are late you get a short ration.” 

Scott took a hasty scrub at his car-stained face 
and hands, and they hurried away to the boarding 
house. Most of the men were already seated when 
they arrived. Scott waited for an introduction to 
the landlady to inquire whether he could stay there, 
but Johnson jerked out the chair next to his, looked 
at him curiously, and ordered him to sit down. 

“ Don’t you have to see the landlady here ? ” 
Scott asked. 

“ Don’t worry,” Johnson laughed. “ She’s prob- 
ably spotting you now through a crack in the door, 
and you’ll see her pretty regularly every Saturday 
night at pay time.” 

“ Humph,” thought Scott, “ I’d like to see any- 
one get into a boarding-house around home without 
giving his whole pedigree and paying a week’s board 
in advance.” He added aloud to Johnson, “ I 
should think a good many fellows would skip their 
board.” 

“ No,” said Johnson, “ there are not many fellows 
here who try it and most of them get caught.” 

When the rush of passing dishes was over Scott 

23 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


# 


had a chance to look around the table. He was sur- 
prised to see what a husky, sunburned, independent 
looking crowd it was. Two of them, especially, 
seemed to be almost an Indian red, and directed the 
conversation with peculiar abandon. He was 
agreeably surprised to see that one of them was 
the Hawaiian who had walked down the street with 
him a few minutes before. He caught Scott’s eye 
and smiled pleasantly. 

Johnson caught the salutation and looked at Scott 
with an air of surprise and added respect. “ I did 
not know that you knew him,” he said in an under- 
tone, but his remarks were cut short by a peremptory 
command from another sunburned face at the end 
of the table. 

“ Johnson, you haven’t the manners of a goat. 
Why don’t you introduce your friend?” 

“ Oh,” said Johnson, somewhat abashed. “ Fel- 
lows, this is my roommate.” 

“ That’s a fine introduction for him. What’s his 
name, pinhead ? ” 

Johnson looked wonderingly at Scott for a min- 
ute, grinned at the surrounding company, and burst 
out laughing. “ Blamed if I know his name yet, 
I just got him this afternoon, and we have not had 
the time to explain the short sad histories of our 
24 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


young lives to each other yet.” Then to Scott, 
“ You’ll have to introduce yourself, I guess.” 

“ Scott Burton, forester,” he announced with 
quiet dignity, and the sunburned senior acknowl- 
edged the introduction for the crowd. 

After dinner he talked for a little while with the 
Hawaiian and a few of the other men and went 
back to the room with Johnson. 

“ How did you get to know Ormand? ” Johnson 
asked. 

“ Who’s he?” 

“ Why that fellow you spoke to at the table. 
Didn’t you know him? ” Johnson asked in surprise. 

“ He walked down the street with me when I was 
coming from the registrar’s office,” said Scott. 
“ Who is he?” 

“ Gee,” said Johnson. “ He is president of the 
senior class and manager of last summer’s corpora- 
tion.” 

“ What do you mean by last summer’s corpora- 
tion?” 

“ Why, when the juniors go up to the woods for 
the summer they form a corporation and elect one 
of the class to manage the business for the bunch. 
He bosses the whole crowd. He’s the biggest man 
in the College and that other fellow who called me 
25 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


down about the introduction is Morgan, the next 
biggest. Funny I did not know your name, wasn’t 
it?” 

“ Well,” Scott said, “ I should not have known 
yours if I had not heard other people talking to 
you. What class are you? ” 

“ Who, me?” said Johnson. “ Why, I am a 
freshman like you.” 

“ Then how is it that you know all these people 
so well ? ” Scott asked. 

“ Oh, I went to prep school here, and knew them 
all last year. I have credit in a couple of courses,” 
Johnson added proudly, “and I have field experi- 
ence to burn. I do not have to take any German 
this year or mathematics either.” 

“ Neither do I,” said Scott. “ Our high school 
is ahead of the ones here, and I have taken so much 
work in the summer that I got credit for nearly all 
the work of the first two years.” 

“Then you’re a junior?” asked Johnson in a 
more respectful tone. Respect for the upper classes 
was about the only weakness that Johnson allowed 
himself in that direction. 

“ I suppose so,” said Scott; “ they told me at the 
registrar’s office that I was practically a junior, but 
would be classed as a freshman till I had completed 
26 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


my elementary forestry, dendrology and forest en- 
gineering.” 

“ Been around the country much? ” 

“ No,” said Scott, “ that’s one reason why I came 
out here to College. I’ve seen every rock in the 
country around home, but I have never been away 
from there.” 

“ Then you have never seen a real forest,” ex- 
claimed Johnson. 

“ Only the woodlots on the farms.” 

“ What sort of work did you do in the summer 
there?” 

“Went to summer school and loafed.” Scott, 
like most of the boys in the East, had always con- 
sidered the holidays sacred to recreation, and had 
thought himself particularly virtuous for devoting 
six weeks of it to summer school each year. “ Do 
you work in vacation time ? ” he asked. 

“ You bet,” said Johnson. “ I’ve worked every 
summer since I can remember, and every winter, 
too, for that matter. I’ve paid all my expenses at 
school for the past ten years.” 

Scott gazed at him in open wonder. “ What do 
you do ? ” he asked. 

“ What haven’t I done would be easier. I’ve 
been * bull cook ’ on a railroad construction crew 
27 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


in Montana, and driven teams on a slusher in Ari- 
zona; I’ve picked apples in Washington, and been 
a ‘ river pig ’ on the drive here in northern Minne- 
sota; I’ve carried a rod on a survey party in Colo- 
rado, and pushed straw in the harvest fields of North 
Dakota; I’ve tended furnaces, carried papers, and 
weighed mail, billed express and smashed baggage 
during Christmas vacation. Some of ’em were 
tough and some of ’em were cinches, but they have 
all netted me a good bunch of experience.” 

During the careless listing of his roommate’s ex- 
periences Scott had slowly settled back in his chair 
with a feeling of wondering admiration for John- 
son and an overwhelming sense of his own help- 
lessness. He eyed Johnson’s thin freckled face, 
and ran his glance over his slight, wiry frame, and 
wondered what he himself, with all his strength, 
would do if he had to tackle such problems. It 
had never occurred to him that anyone but a born 
laboring man could do such things. The feeling of 
contempt which he had at first for Johnson’s rough- 
ness gave way to a kind of new admiration for his 
ability and self reliance. 

“Do you play football?” Johnson asked sud- 
denly. 

“ No, I never cared anything about it.” 

28 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ Baseball?” 

“ Only a little.” 

“Basketball?” Johnson persisted. 

“ No.” 

“ Well, where in thunder did you get that build 
if you have never worked and don’t do any athletic 
stunts?” Johnson was searching for something to 
account for Scott’s five feet ten and one hundred 
and seventy-five pounds, his heavy shoulders and 
muscular neck. He had the Westerner’s contempt 
for the tenderfoot of the East. He was not at all 
surprised that he could not do anything, but was 
puzzled at his fine physique. 

“ Oh,” said Scott, “ I got that wrestling, boxing 
and walking around the country. There was an 
ex-prizefighter who worked for father and he used 
to give me lessons in the barn every evening.” 

Johnson pricked up his ears. “ A boxer,” he 
thought. “ Maybe the man was not so helpless after 
all.” 

“ You’ll have to box Morgan,” he said aloud, 
“ and if you can do him, you’ll have to fight for the 
College on rush day. Will you do it?” 

“ I’ll certainly try,” said Scott, and the East rose 
a thousand per cent in Johnson’s estimation. 

The two boys talked on till nearly midnight and 
29 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


finally went to sleep with entirely new ideas of each 
other. Unconsciously the prejudices of generations 
had been broken down and their views broadened 
across half a continent. 


CHAPTER' III 


S COTT was gradually settling down in his new 
surroundings, getting accustomed to his new 
associates, who had struck him as being so 
totally different from the men he was used to, and 
becoming familiar with the routine of the class 
work. 

He found himself at a great disadvantage in 
competition with the other members of the class. 
He had been taught by good teachers, but their 
point of view had been different from that of the 
foresters who had taught the men with whom he 
was now thrown. These fellows had been looking 
forward to a definite end for several years and all 
their training had been with the ultimate object in 
view. They had a different view of the subjects 
from the one he had obtained from the academic 
men who had taught him. He found that they had 
a grip of the subjects and could apply them in a 
way that he could not. Moreover, he had a great 
deal of extra work to make up and he had been 
allowed to take it only on condition that if he was 
3i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


not up to the scratch at the end of the first six weeks 
he would have to drop it all. 

Not many men could have carried such a burden, 
and the chairman of the Students’ Work Committee 
had told him that he was foolish to attempt it. 
Most men would have either fallen short or have 
overworked themselves; but Scott did neither. He 
had always believed in system in his work. He 
allotted so much time to his studies and allowed 
nothing to interfere with them; he made it a point 
not to study for an hour in the evening after sup- 
per, and never looked at a book from Saturday 
noon to Monday morning. He knew that he was 
able to accomplish more in the long run in this way. 
As most of the student sports were scheduled for 
Saturday afternoon he was able to take in most 
of them and did not become stale. 

He had just closed his book one Saturday morn- 
ing preparatory to going to lunch when Johnson 
bounced into the room in high feather. 

“ Come on, Scotty, let’s go to the football game 
this afternoon. It’s only Lawrence, and won’t be 
much of a game, but it will give us a chance to get 
a line on the team.” 

Scott agreed readily, the more readily because he 
had never seen a big football game. They ate lunch 
32 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


hastily, for it was already a little late and the game 
was scheduled a little earlier than usual. The car 
was crowded with people going to the field and 
when they got off the car they found the streets 
full of people flocking in the same direction. 

Johnson led the way into two good seats where 
they did not belong and succeeded in holding them 
against all comers. The stands were full, for 
though it was not considered one of the big games, 
it was the first game of the season, and the students 
all turned out to see their team in action. It was 
the basis for sizing up the chances for the team in 
the struggle for the Western supremacy. The 
stands were a brilliant mass of color and the cheer 
leaders were performing all kinds of contortions 
to wring the greatest volume of noise from the 
crowd. 

As they took their seats the door of the Armory 
opened and a squad of players trotted briskly onto 
the field. There was a restless movement of the 
crowd on the big stand and a few scattering cheers 
from the smaller stand opposite, but no organized 
yells. 

“ Is that one of the teams?” Scott asked anx- 
iously. 

“ Yes,” Johnson answered, leaning eagerly for- 
33 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


ward to size each man up as he took his place. 

“Why don’t they cheer them?” Scott asked in 
surprise. 

“ That’s the other team,” Johnson answered care- 
lessly. 

“ I should think that would be all the more reason 
for cheering them,” Scott said. 

Johnson turned a wondering look upon him, but 
was prevented from answering by a deafening yell 
from the whole stand in which they both joined 
heartily. Their own team had appeared. 

“How’s that for yelling?” Johnson asked 
proudly. 

“ Rather discouraging for the other fellows,” 
Scott answered. 

“ Well, that’s what you want to do, isn’t it ? 
Look there, they are lining up already.” 

The referee had called the captains together, de- 
cided the choice of goal, and the two teams were 
taking their places. 

“ Their ball,” Johnson commented, intent on the 
field. 

The referee blew his whistle and there was a 
moment of intense silence as the blue line charged 
forward and the ball sailed far out on the kick-off. 
It was a splendid kick, clear to the comer of the 
34 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


field and high. It dropped neatly into a pair of 
maroon arms and the crowd cheered wildly. 

“ Wasn’t that a dandy kick ! ” Scott exclaimed. 

“ Now watch them run it back,” Johnson exulted. 

But they did not run it back so fast. One of the 
swift blue ends was on the man and downed him 
in his tracks. 

“ That man’s some fast,” Scott said. 

“ Yes,” Johnson said, “ too fast. They ought to 
look out for him. They’ll carry it back fast enough 
now; that line can’t hold them.” 

The ball was snapped, and an attempt made at 
an end run, but the same man who had followed 
the kick downed the man for a loss. An attempt 
at center fared no better and the fullback dropped 
back for a kick. The ball went out of bounds al- 
most in the center of the field. 

Then the real surprise came. The Lawrence 
team formed quickly, and by a series of lightning 
plays swept down toward the Minnesota goal. 
Nothing seemed able to stop them. The stand was 
as silent as the tomb. 

“ Why don’t they yell ? ” Scott asked. “ Now is 
the time the team needs it.” 

“ Who could cheer such an exhibition as that ? ” 
Johnson asked in disgust. 

35 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Suddenly the stand went wild. A Lawrence run- 
ner, rounding the end, far out beyond the other 
team slipped in a puddle and fell. The ball rolled 
toward the goal line and a Minnesota player fell 
on it on the five-yard line. 

“ That was hard luck,” Scott remarked when the 
' cheering had subsided. 

“Hard luck!” Johnson exclaimed. “Who do 
you want to win this game?” 

“ Minnesota, of course,” Scott retorted indig- 
nantly, “ but to win on a thing like that does not do 
them any credit.” 

“ Kept 'em from scoring, anyway,” Johnson an- 
swered doggedly. 

The ball was kicked into safety once more and 
the Lawrence team started on another rush for the 
goal. Again they seemed irresistible, and only a 
fumble on the ten-yard line saved a score. What 
had started as a practice game had developed into a 
real struggle for victory with Minnesota continu- 
ally on the defensive. 

At the end of the first quarter neither team had 
scored. Again and again in the next period, the 
fast Lawrence team carried the ball through their 
heavier opponents only to lose it near the goal line 
by some slip of their own. Not once were they 
36 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

held on downs. But fate seemed to be against 
them, for the whistle blew at the end of the second 
quarter with the first down on the Minnesota two- 
yard line. 

No sooner had the teams left the field for the 
ten minutes’ rest between halves than the big Uni- 
versity band formed in front of the grandstand and 
marched around the field playing lively airs to try 
to put some heart into the crowd. It did not suc- 
ceed very well; the crowd seemed utterly beaten 
and without hope. 

“ Is Lawrence a big college ? ” Scott asked when 
the music ceased. 

“ No,” Johnson groaned in disgust. 

“ They seem to have a mighty good team,” Scott 
continued. 

“ You mean we have a mighty rotten one,” John- 
son retorted. “ They ought to bury Lawrence, 
and if they can’t they ought to be ashamed of them- 
selves.” 

“ They are doing the best they can,” Scott said, 
“ and they ought to be supported. They can’t help 
it if the other fellows are better.” 

“ That won’t stop them from getting licked,” 
Johnson growled. 

“What difference does it make if they do get 

37 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


licked ?” Scott argued. “You ought to give the 
other people credit — ” he began, when there was a 
half hearted cheer and the teams trotted out on the 
field again. 

“ Now let’s see if the ‘ old man ’ has put a bug 
in their ear.” Johnson said, leaning forward with 
renewed hope. 

The game started out pretty much as before, but 
not so fast. The ball was creeping steadily down 
into Minnesota territory when a poor pass carried 
it over the head of the Lawrence fullback, he 
fumbled in trying to recover it, and a Minnesota 
man got it. The crowd cheered the poor pass 
wildly. 

Scott looked around in astonishment. “ What 
are they yelling for now? ” he asked. 

“Didn’t you see that pass?” Johnson asked ex- 
citedly. 

“ Don’t see anything to cheer in that, it was just 
a poor pass such as you could see on any corner lot.” 

“ Meant ten yards and the ball to us,” Johnson 
answered shortly. He had made his own way in 
the world and had usually found the other fellow’s 
loss to be his gain. 

That seemed to be the turning point in the game. 
The light Lawrence team had expended its strength 
38 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


in the early part of the game. Their substitutes, 
as in most small colleges, were poor, and the over- 
whelming weight of the maroon team began to 
tell. Following up their advantage they carried the 
ball steadily down the field, crushing the lighter 
team before them. The crowd went wild with en- 
thusiasm. The yelling was almost a continuous 
roar. 

But the little Lawrence team was game. On their 
five-yard line they took a brace and would not yield 
an inch. The big machine which had carried the 
ball surely, for almost the entire length of the field, 
lost it on downs, and saw it kicked far over their 
heads out to the center of the field. The crowd was 
still in an instant and there was even a slight ten- 
dency to hiss, but the better element instantly sup- 
pressed it. 

The third quarter ended and still there was no 
score. 

The teams changed sides amidst a deathlike si- 
lence. The next instant all was wild excitement 
again. The captain of the Minnesota team had 
broken away with a clean forward pass, and was 
speeding away down the field with no one between 
him and a touchdown but the little Lawrence 
quarter. 


39 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Scott yelled with the loudest of them. “ Wasn’t 
that a corker?” he screamed in Johnson’s ear. 

The yelling ended, as suddenly as it had begun, 
in a groan. The little quarterback agily kept in 
front of the big runner, followed his every feint, 
and brought him to the ground with a crash. 

“ Blame it,” Scott exclaimed. “ Wasn’t that a 
beautiful tackle? ” 

“ Beautiful tackle? ” Johnson raged. “ I wish he 
had broken his neck.” This last remark must not 
be taken to represent the attitude of the majority 
of the crowd, but it fairly represented Johnson’s 
attitude in everything but his own actions. 

The setback, however, was only temporary. The 
big team gathered itself together, and carried the 
ball over for a touchdown. Goal was kicked just 
three minutes before time was called, and the game 
ended with a score of seven to nothing in favor of 
Minnesota. 

The big crowd jostled slowly out of the gate and 
it seemed to Scott that for people who had been so 
wildly desirous of winning, they were very silent 
about it when it was accomplished. 

“ That’s what I call a good game,” Scott said. 

“ That’s what I call a rotten game,” Johnson re- 
torted. “ They ought to have beaten Lawrence 
40 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


thirty to nothing, instead of that they barely suc- 
ceeded in making seven, and were nearly scored 
against three or four times.” 

“ What has that got to do with it? ” Scott argued. 
“ It would have been just as good a game if we 
had not won it at all. The good playing is what 
you want to see, no matter who does it.” 

“ Do you mean to say that you would enjoy see- 
ing a good play if the other people made it and it 
counted against you?” 

“ Certainly,” Scott answered stoutly. “ I en- 
joyed seeing that quarterback make that tackle 
though it knocked us out of a touchdown. It would 
not have been nearly so pretty if he had missed 
it.” 

“ That’s one of your Eastern ideas of sport,” 
Johnson jeered contemptuously. “ You can watch 
the pretty plays the other people make; they look 
better to me when our own team makes them.” 

“If that game had been at home,” Scott con- 
tinued, “ every good play those Lawrence people 
made would have been cheered the same as our 
own.” 

“Do you call that being loyal to your team?” 
Johnson asked. 

“ Certainly. It’s simply giving the other fellow 
4i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


credit for what he does. There is no team loyalty 
in pretending the fellows they beat are no good, and 
still less in saying that the team that defeated them 
was no good.” 

That seemed to put the question up to Johnson 
in a new light. He pondered over it for a minute 
and then looked up cheerfully. 

“ I’ll tell you what it is, Scotty. We play to win 
and let the other fellow look after his credit, but 
there’s some sense in that last. Can you really see 
the beauty of the play that goes against you? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Well,” Johnson laughed, “wait till I see you 
praising some fellow’s skill in blacking your eye in 
some boxing bout. Then I’ll believe you. Come 
on, let’s walk home. We’ll have plenty of time 
before supper.” 

There was a little talk at the supper table of the 
football game, most of the men taking the same 
view as Johnson, that it was a pretty poor exhibi- 
tion because Lawrence had not been completely over- 
whelmed, but most of the time was taken up with 
a discussion of the coming campfire. The upper 
classmen hinted mysteriously of the sacred rites 
that had been prepared for the new members. 

“ Ormand,” Morgan hissed in a stage whisper 
42 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


which could be plainly heard by every one at the 
table, “ did you feed the goat tonight? ” 

" No,” Ormand answered in the same tone, “ he’ll 
be more savage if he is hungry, and besides, he’ll 
get plenty of green stuff to eat tonight. 

“ Johnson,” he continued, “ if you and Scotty 
had taken my advice and paddled each other every 
night for half an hour for the past two weeks you 
would be better prepared.” 

Scott could not help feeling nervous, but it did 
not seem to worry Johnson. 

“ You don’t know that we have not been doing 
it,” he answered flippantly. “ It won’t be the first 
goat I have ridden, and I don’t believe he can out- 
butt the old ram I tried to herd in Wyoming one 
summer.” 

“ You’ll have a good chance for comparison, any- 
way,” said Ormand rising. “Come on, Morgan, 
let’s go prepare the torture chamber at the club- 
house.” 

The new men at the table responded with varying 
degrees of bravado according to their natures, but 
a very apparent feeling of nervous excitement per- 
vaded everyone except Johnson. Nothing could 
perturb his cheerful good humor. 

“ Cheer up, Tubby,” he cried to a stout freshman 
43 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


who sat opposite him. “ They may sting you a lit- 
tle but there is no chance of their striking a bone. 
And look at little Steve over there with a face a 
mile long. Don’t you know they dasent touch you 
for fear of breaking your glasses ? ” 

In two minutes he had broken the spell and had 
them all at ease. The self-reliance he had gained 
through his life of hard knocks was infectious. He 
enjoyed the influence that it gave him over the 
others, and he lorded it over them on all occasions, 
but always in a way that pleased them. 

“ Now,” he said with a patronizing air, “ all of 
you kids go home, put on two pairs of trousers 
apiece, and be at the clubhouse at seven o’clock 
sharp. Come on, Scotty, let’s go read up a little 
on the nocturnal habits of that sportive goat.” 

Scott recognized the subtle influence which John- 
son exercised over his classmates and admired his 
power. He even smiled at the readiness with which 
he himself left his dessert half eaten to obey his 
orders. 

The football game had made them late for supper 
and all those who wished to join the forestry club 
had to be at the clubhouse at seven sharp. They 
had little time to spare. Scott was at a loss how 
to dress to do the proper honor to the rites at the 
44 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


clubhouse and yet be ready for the campfire. John- 
son suffered from no such perplexity. 

“ Believe me, Scotty, you can wear your dress 
suit if you want to, but the ‘ sacred rites ’ at the club- 
house can, in my humble opinion, be observed a 
good deal more appropriately in sweater and over- 
alls. ,, 

Scott finally decided to accept Johnson's better 
judgment, relied on that gentleman’s knowledge of 
his surroundings, and donned his sweater. John- 
son was already equipped. He cast a longing 
glance at a sofa cushion on the couch. “ Sorry I 
haven’t room for you, old fellow, if I had I’d sure 
take you along. Five minutes of seven, Scotty, 
just time to make it.” 

They hurried to the clubhouse in silence. The 
front door stood open and a carefully shielded light 
cast a dim glow on a notice pinned to the door jamb. 
They read the notice eagerly. 

Follow this string. 

Speak only when you are spoken to. 

Be good and you’ll be happy. 

Beware of the Goat. 

Farewell. 

A thin cord was tied to the door knob and led 
45 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

away up the dark stair. They laid their hands 
gingerly on the string and started carefully up 
stairs with nerves on edge. At the first turn on 
the landing a bright electric light flashed in their 
eyes for an instant and left them totally blinded in 
the utter darkness. They groped their way along 
apprehensively holding to that winding string. 
There was not a sound to be heard except the noise 
they themselves made as they stumbled through the 
rooms littered with all the obstructions that ingenius 
minds could devise. After what seemed like almost 
interminable scrambling they mounted another flight 
of stairs. More winding through obstructed 
passageways, and down another flight of stairs, 
then another and another. Scott was beginning to 
have visions of old medieval dungeons when his 
wrist bumped into something cold that snapped with 
a metallic click, and he found himself brought to a 
stop by a handcuff. It was too dark to distinguish 
anything, but he could hear the hard breathing of 
many nervous people. It seemed to him that he 
had stood there for an eternity with nothing to 
break the silence save occasionally a cautious step 
on the stairs which always stopped with the same 
metallic click. 

Suddenly there was a shuffling of many feet and 
46 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


the handcuff led him slowly forward. Much to his 
surprise he passed through a door directly onto the 
ground outside — he had thought that he must be 
at least one story below the level of the street — 
and found himself in the middle of a long string 
of men all walking in single file. They were all 
handcuffed to one long rope. This chain gang was 
guarded by a line of scouts on either side, and led 
on by six husky fellows who dragged the front end 
of the rope. 

Slowly the procession marched up the middle of 
the street, across the campus, through the auditor- 
ium where a popular lecture was in progress, and 
out into the open fields. After a half-mile of wind- 
ing march in the darkness they entered a black 
forest. A little farther and the line stopped. 

“ Prepare to meet your fate,” came from a deep 
voice immediately in front of them. 

More than one man in the crowd trembled so that 
the links of his handcuffs clinked audibly. Scott, 
now that the time had really come, felt perfectly 
calm. 

After a few seconds’ pause a long screen of bur- 
lap dropped from in front of them and they saw 
the upper classmen of the club standing in a semi- 
circle around a small campfire. 

47 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Ormand, the president of the club, stepped for- 
ward a few paces. “ Gentlemen, let me introduce 
you to the new members of our club. And for 
you, new members, may your enthusiasm for 
the club and the College never be less than 
your surprise at the present moment. Release 
them.” 

The guards quickly unlocked the handcuffs, and 
the astonished “ victims ” looked uneasily about 
them, not knowing what to expect. But the upper 
classmen came forward to welcome them, and they 
found themselves really accepted on an equal foot- 
ing with the rest. Their stunned expression 
brought forth shouts of laughter. 

Johnson was the first to recover. “ Well, fel- 
lows,” he admitted with a grin, “ as I was telling 
you, I have ridden several goats before and some of 
them were pretty rough riding, but none of them 
ever shook me up like this.” 

The tension was broken, and the reaction turned 
the crowd of half stunned men into an hilarious 
bunch of boys. They danced around the campfire 
in dizzying circles, and the fantastic shadows flashed 
weirdly through the surrounding forest. At last 
they settled down in a contented circle, and the en- 
tertainment committee rolled out a barrel of ap- 
48 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


pies, a barrel of cider, a bushel of peanuts and a set 
of boxing gloves. 

They were all hailed with a shout of welcome, 
but some of the new members looked rather anx- 
iously at the padded gloves. Sam Hepburn, the 
chairman of the entertainment committee, explained 
the program. 

“ Pile in, fellows,” he cried, “ and help your- 
selves. Don’t be bashful. I reckon you all know 
how to eat, if you don’t, watch Pudge Manning. 
But we must have some entertainment while we 
eat. Since we have no orchestra to dispense sweet 
music, we shall try another form of amusement not 
unknown to the ancient Gormans. I have here in 
this hat the names of all the old members. Each 
new man must draw a slip. In addition to the 
name each slip has a number on it. Each man must 
box for two minutes with the man he draws, and 
the bouts will be pulled off according to the num- 
bers on the slips. I’ll pass around the hat. Each 
man must draw one and only one.” 

The hat was passed quickly around the circle and 
the drawers examined the slips eagerly to see what 
sort of opponents they had drawn. There were 
sighs of relief from some and groans of despair 
from others. 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Now, fellows, 1 ” called Hepburn, “ the first bout 
will start at once. Let the man who has number 
one come forward and call out his opponent. The 
ring will be this circle and the bunch the referee. 
Step lively now.” 

A slight youth with a very scared expression 
stepped timidly forward and called in a very faint 
voice for Pudge Manning, the biggest man in the 
junior class. There was a great shout of laughter 
at the ill-matched pair. Hepburn put the gloves on 
Manning and Johnson, who had appointed himself 
the second for all the new members, equipped the 
frightened little freshman, and tried to brace him 
up with good advice. 

“ Kick his shins, son ; you can’t reach his face. 
You have the advantage of him already, you can’t 
miss him and he will have to be a pretty good shot 
to land on you. Now go for him.” 

Johnson’s advice was in itself as good as a circus. 
It was hard to tell which was the most ridiculous 
figure; the huge Manning sheepishly trying to keep 
from hurting his little adversary, or the trembling 
little freshman fighting wildly with the fury of 
desperation. The crowd howled their delight, and 
when time was called gleefully awarded the decision 
to the freshman. 


50 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Bout followed fast upon bout and the interest 
never flagged, for the combinations were such that 
they furnished a plentiful variety. Some were so 
unevenly matched as to be altogether ridiculous, 
others were evenly enough matched but so ignorant 
of the game that the slugging match was wildly 
exciting, in still other cases science showed its su- 
periority to brute force, but really scientific spar- 
ring on both sides was rarely seen. 

Johnson drove the crowd almost into hysterics by 
an exhibition of wildcat fighting against a man al- 
most twice his size. With the agility of a cat he 
bounded around his big opponent, doing very little 
damage himself, but continuously maddening the big 
fellow with ceaseless taunts, and successfully wrig- 
gling out of reach of all punishment. 

Scott looked on doubled up with laughter. He 
had not seen any very good boxing, but viewed as 
a farce it certainly was a howling success. He was 
well pleased that he had drawn Morgan, the best 
boxer in r the College, for he had not had any prac- 
tice in a long time, and was eager to measure 
himself against one of these Westerners who were 
inclined to look upon the East with some con- 
tempt. 

Finally his turn came and he called cheerfully for 
5i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


\ 

Morgan as he walked over to Johnson to be gloved 
and given his facetious instructions. 

Johnson was more serious with him than with 
most of the others. “ You’re up against the real 
thing now, Scotty. He can box like a fiend, and has 
the strength of a moose. Keep your chin in,” he 
cautioned in a low voice as Scott walked into the 
ring, “ and remember your sporting views,” he 
chuckled. 

The match differed from any that had gone be- 
fore. Both men were expert with the gloves, and 
they were fairly matched physically. Morgan was 
a trifle taller, giving him the advantage in the reach, 
Scott was a little heavier in the shoulders. They 
shook hands, stepped back quickly and the fight was 
on. Morgan had his reputation to sustain, Scott 
had his to make. The crowd rose in a body to give 
better vent to its excitement. The two circled rap- 
idly, passing, parrying, side-stepping, dodging ; 
now almost in each other’s arms, now at arm’s 
length, and occasionally a lightning pass, followed 
by a sharp spat told of a good blow gone home. 
Scott found Morgan his equal in out-fighting, but 
his training with the old prizefighter gave him much 
the best of the mix-ups. 

Suddenly something happened. Scott invited a 
52 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


full swing from Morgan, attempted to side-step, 
slipped on the damp sod, and received the full blow 
on the point of his chin. The stars danced merrily 
before his eyes and he sat down with a thud. He 
was up almost instantly. “ Good shot, old man/’ 
he cried to Morgan, and was boxing again with as 
much vigor as before. 

“ By George, he does believe it,” Johnson 
yelled. No one else knew what he was talking 
about, but Scott smiled. 

When time was called the match was declared a 
draw. Morgan shook Scott enthusiastically by the 
hand. “ Scotty, you are a winner and it will be up 
to you to fight in the big fall meet. Why, you are 
not winded at all.” 

“ No,” Scott answered quietly, “ the old prize- 
fighter who taught me always insisted on each 
lesson going to ten rounds, and I am used to 
it.” 

“ Oh, ho! learned from a professional, did you? 
That accounts for your not being phased by that 
blow on the chin, and your strong in-fighting. I 
should not stand any show with you in a real fight. 
I’m winded now.” 

All the fellows crowded around Scott to con- 
gratulate him and forgave him his inability to play 
53 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

football in their admiration of a man who could 
stand up to Morgan. 

“ Well, fellows,” Ormand shouted, “ that bout 
was too good to be spoiled by anything else. It’s 
half past eleven. Let’s put out this fire and march 
home.” 

The fire was soon extinguished, and the crowd 
filed out of the woods singing familiar songs and 
yelling fiendishly at every sleeping house they 
passed. Slowly it melted away as the fellows came 
to their various rooming houses. When Scott and 
Johnson turned into their house they heard the sing- 
ing of the remnant of the band dying away in the 
distance. 

“ Scotty,” Johnson said with admiration written 
in every feature, “ you are the new White Hope of 
the College. When you took that wallop on the 
jaw and praised the man who did it, I believed what 
you said this afternoon. Now watch me be your 
kind of a sport.” 


CHAPTER IV 


T HE next three weeks were full of pleasure 
for Scott Burton, for they brought him 
hours of his favorite exercise. Ormand, 
who had considerable influence with the student 
powers at the University, had made it his business 
the morning after the campfire celebration to ar- 
range for Scott to represent the freshman class in 
the heavyweight class in the boxing match held each 
year to settle the supremacy between the under 
classes. It was an honor which the foresters had 
long coveted, and was granted to them only after 
Ormand had exhausted all his persuasive powers in 
his effort to show them how totally inadequate all 

i 

the other candidates were, and how sure his candi- 
date was to win. In his own mind he was not at 
all certain of the outcome, for the sophomores had 
a young giant who had won the event without an 
effort the year before, and held the supremacy in the 
whole University ever since. 

Scott trained like a prizefighter, leaving no stone 
unturned to put himself in the pink of condition. 
55 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

He changed his recreation hour from the hour after 
supper to the hour before, and that hour was in- 
variably spent in the boxing room of the gymna- 
sium. Every day he boxed fast and furious bouts 
with Morgan, Manning, Edwards, Ormand and any 
of the other big fellows who cared to try it. He 
could wear them all out one after the other, and 
he worked incessantly to increase his endurance, 
for all agreed that it was his best chance to push 
the fight at a furious pace from bell to bell. For 
there were other men who were as good boxers as 
he, but none of them, they figured, with half his 
endurance or his ability to stand punishment. He 
was fast on his feet, could close in on any of them 
at will, and once at close range none of them could 
compare with him for a moment. 

Johnson fussed over him like a mother. He was 
at the boxing room as regularly as Scott himself, 
and never left till he cotfld give his charge a good 
rubdown, and escort him to supper, where he 
watched his diet with an eagle eye, and ordered away 
every dessert that Scott really cared for. He dom- 
ineered to such an extent that Scott more than once 
threatened to thrash him instead of the sophomore, 
but Johnson always had his way and tightened up 
his orders after every encounter. 

56 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Johnson,” he said one day, as he watched a 
luscious piece of pumpkin pie going back to the 
kitchen by Johnson’s orders, “when that scrap is 
over I am going to eat your dessert and mine, too, 
for a month.” 

“ You may have my dessert for all the rest of the 
winter if you win,” Johnson responded earnestly. 

“ There it goes again,” Scott complained. 
“ What difference does that make ? I may put up 
the very best fight I ever made in my life and get 
everlastingly licked. Then you would want to do 
me out of my right to eat your pie simply because 
the other fellow was too much for me. But if he 
happens to be a poor scrapper and I win easily you 
would cheerfully let me eat your desserts for six 
months. That’s queer logic.” 

“ Some more of your Eastern sporting views,” 
Johnson jeered. 

“ Well you ought to give a fellow credit for what 
he does, oughtn’t you? If he puts up a perfectly 
good scrap, give him credit for that. If the other 
fellow puts up a better one give him credit for that . 
I am going to eat your dessert anyway, so there is 
no use in arguing about it.” 

They went to their rooms and straight to work. 
Johnson had wanted Scott to stop his studies for a 
57 

$ , 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


while, but on that one point Scott balked and in- 
sisted on keeping up all his work, for he felt that 
his ability to handle it at all depended on his keep- 
ing it up-to-date. He was working hard on a prob- 
lem when Johnson announced that it was ten o’clock 
and time for all prizefighters to be in bed. He em- 
phasized his orders by blowing out the student’s 
lamp. Scott fired a book at him, which Johnson 
dodged cheerfully and proceeded to go to bed. 

“ That’s something else I am going to do,” Scott 
cried with some spirit. “ After the twenty-fourth 
of October I am going to sit up as late as I blame 
please.” 

“ Um-huh,” Johnson answered, unperturbed. 
“ After the twenty- fourth you may sit up all night 
if you want to, but — after the twenty-fourth. 
You need not talk too bigity; you may not be able 
to sit up at all after the twenty-fourth.” 

And so it went from day to day. Scott working 
as never before, and Johnson rigidly enforcing his 
rules, jollying his way through all the threatened 
mutinies. In one short week Scott had jumped 
from an unknown student to the idol of the Col- 
lege. He realized that if he could win that match 
his position among his fellow students would be 
established. This idea spurred him on to untiring 
58 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

efforts. Even the girls began to look after him 
when he passed, and that embarrassed him, for he 
had always been shy about girls. 

At last the all-important day arrived. The morn- 
ing classes had been dismissed for the occasion. 
The students assembled on the campus by the hun- 
dreds, boys and girls together, crowded around the 
little open space reserved for the events. For the 
upper classmen it was a festive celebration to be 
thoroughly enjoyed. For the under classmen it 
was a serious contest, and through the good-natured 
yelling and cheering there ran an undercurrent of 
antagonism, which broke out in petty scraps and 
bickerings all through the crowd. The upper class- 
men were kept busy exercising their police functions 
to confine the competition to the organized contests. 

Finally the crowd settled down with the classes 
concentrated, each on one of the four sides of the 
opening. The field marshal announced the cane 
rush between the sophs and the freshmen as the first 
event, and called for the representatives of the two 
classes. The chosen men, forty husky fellows from 
each class, stepped forward and lined up on oppo- 
site sides. All were dressed in the oldest clothes 
they could find, and looked more like a band of 
strikers than students seriously inclined toward 
59 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


higher education. The officials brought for- 
ward the cane and placed it in the hands of five 
select men from each class, carefully placing the 
hands so that neither class had an unfair advantage. 
The remaining champions were then lined up care- 
fully at equal distances on either side of the cane. 
When all was arranged there was an instant of in- 
tense suspense as the referee took a review of the 
situation before raising the whistle to his lips. 

At the first shrill blast the contestants rushed 
tumultuously forward on the little writhing knot 
of men around the cane. Sophomores tugged at 
freshmen to tear them away from the coveted cane, 
and freshmen struggled desperately with tenacious 
sophomores. In an instant they were all merged 
into one seething mass of humanity. It was prac- 
tically impossible for those on the outside of the 
crowd to reach the cane, but they fought as wildly 
as those in the center. The pressure in the center 
became so great that one man was squeezed out of 
the mass like a grape from its skin, and rose head 
and shoulders above the crowd in spite of his best 
efforts to stay on the ground. Men on the out- 
skirts vaulted to the heads of the crowd with a 
running start to crawl over the tightly packed 
heads and shoulders to the center only to be caught 
60 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

by the feet and dragged violently back to the ground. 
Frequently tempers were ruffled beyond control, and 
the consequent slugging matches had to be stopped 
by the officials. Pieces of wearing apparel littered 
the ground. Sweater sleeves and pieces of shirts 
rose high above the crowd. The grim silence of 
the contestants contrasted strangely with the wild 
cheering of the spectators. It was impossible to 
tell where the advantage lay, but that detracted 
nothing from the enthusiasm. Scott watched the 
struggle, the first of the kind he had ever seen, with 
intense interest, and forgot for the time that he 
would so soon be the central figure of just such an- 
other spasm of excitement and frantic cheering. 
The contestants still fought on with dogged per- 
severance, but their efforts were becoming weaker, 
and they were glad to stop at the referee’s whis- 
tle. 

The upper classmen formed a circle around the 
ragged crowd, and the judges began their search for 
the cane. Those on the outskirts were summarily 
pushed outside the circle till the group was reached 
who actually had hold of the cane. The hands on 
the cane were counted, thirteen for the sophomores 
and ten for the freshmen. The announcement was 
received with frantic shouting by the sophomore 
61 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


supporters and the heroes were welcomed back to 
the side lines with wild demonstrations. 

But there was not much time for such celebra- 
tions. The program was a long one and the offi- 
cials’ call for the lightweight wrestlers centered the 
interest of the crowd on a new event. One by one 
the events passed by and the interest began to flag 
— for it was a sophomore day and the freshmen 
seemed wholly outclassed. Decision after decision 
went to the sophomores, and at the call for each 
new event the cheers from the freshmen ranks grew 
weaker. They were becoming overwhelmed by the 
defeat. 

As the freshman middleweight stepped into the 
ring for the second round of his drubbing, Johnson, 
who had been pleading with each man in turn to do 
something for the honor of his class, turned to 
Scott almost with tears in his eyes. “ Now, 
Scotty,” he said, “ you’ll be the next, and you’ve got 
to win. This bunch of loafers has lost everything 
for us, and a forester must save the honor of the 
class. There, that wax figure got knocked down 
again. That finishes him. Now come on. You’re 
the last hope between us and a shut out. Show ’em 
what a forester’s made of. You’ve simply got to 
win.” 


62 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


The referee had called for the heavyweights, and 
Johnson, Scott’s faithful second, was tying on his 
hero’s gloves. Scott felt a little nervous, but knew 
that he would be all right as soon as the first blow 
was struck. 

Johnson fussed around his roommate like a nerv- 
ous mother. “ Now, Scotty, everything is ready. 
He’s a regular moose, but remember the game. 
Go at him like a tornado from the very start and he 
can’t stand the pace.” 

With these final instructions Scott walked out 
to meet his opponent. The man opposed to him 
was indeed a giant; he had never boxed with such 
a big man, and he saw the last gleam of hope dying 
in the freshman ranks. That would have taken the 
courage out of many men, but it only made Scott 
the more determined to save his class’s honor, and 
bring everlasting fame to the foresters. 

The big fellow shook hands condescendingly with 
a rather patronizing air, which maddened Scott. 
In stepping back from the handshake the big fellow 
took a leisurely and rather contemptuous slap at 
his opponent’s head, but that was the last chance 
he had to show his superiority. Scott dodged like 
a flash and landed a straight punch in the big fel- 
low’s stomach. The ease with which he had lorded 

63 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

it over the whole University for a year had made 
him careless, but he was a good boxer and he knew 
that he could not afford to play with this new man. 
Scott left him no time to think it out. He pushed 
the attack with a fury that brought the spectators 
to their feet, and wrung from the freshmen the first 
real cheer they had had the heart to give since the 
cane rush was decided. Scott rushed his opponent 
again and again, each time breaking away with a 
vicious hook to the short ribs that worked havoc 
with the big fellow’s wind — none too good at the 
first. It was not, however, a one-sided fight by any 
means. The sophomore’s superior reach and 
weight gave him a great advantage, especially in 
the out-fighting, and he was not slow in grasping 
the opportunities. Scott’s rushing tactics forced 
him to make some good openings and it was only 
his ability to stand punishment that saved him sev- 
eral times. 

During the first round he was rushing in on his 
opponent when he received a straight punch in the 
right eye that landed him flat on his back. The 
hopes of the freshman class fell with him, but Scott 
was up again like a rubber ball amidst a perfect 
tempest of cheers, was inside the big sophomore’s 
guard almost before that gentleman realized what 
64 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


had happened, beat a veritable tattoo on his short 
ribs and was away clear without being touched. 
He was fighting as strongly and furiously as ever, 
while his opponent was laboring heavily. 

But Scott still had to be very careful to avoid 
those vicious swings. Twice he received blows on 
the chin which sent his head back with a snap, and 
which would have knocked out a less hardened man. 
He saw that his man was weakening and gave him 
no peace. He had rushed him to the ropes and was 
fighting at close range in the hope of getting a 
chance at his jaw when the whistle ended the first 
round. 

Johnson received him with open arms, and 
wrapped the bathrobe carefully about him. 
“ You’ve got him going, Scotty, if you can keep 
up another round like that you’ll get him easy. Can 
you do it ? ” 

“ Yes,” Scott answered, “ ten of ’em, if he doesn’t 
knock my head off in the meantime. He certainly 
landed some dandy blows on me.” 

“ Why don’t you play for his jaw more? You’re 
just hammering away at his ribs all the time; you 
can’t hurt him there,” Johnson remonstrated. 

Scott laughed, “ You don’t realize how tall he is. 
I can’t reach his face unless I’m in close and then 
65 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


I am afraid to reach up so high; it would give him 
too big an opening. Those rib blows count in the 
long run, but I do not believe myself that they will 
be any good in a two-round fight. I’ll have to risk 
it this time, I guess.” 

Johnson was delighted to see that his hero was 
not winded in the least, and he watched the heavings 
of the bathrobe opposite with huge satisfaction. The 
freshmen were hopeful once more, and answered 
the taunts of the sophomores with some spirit. 

At the sound of the whistle Scott shot to his feet 
like a jack-in-the-box and met his opponent three- 
fourths of the way across the ring. He tried some 
sparring at long range, but found that he was still 
outclassed, even though the sophomore was plainly 
showing his fatigue. Several stiff blows about the 
face showed him that it was not yet safe. Once 
more he ducked, charged, and pounded the big fel- 
low’s wind. He received a blow on the jaw when 
he thought he was clear out of reach, but he realized 
that the old vim was no longer back of it. 

Scott decided that the time had come to take the 
one chance he had of a clean decision. He rushed 
his man furiously, and tried for an opening to the 
face, but was driven out again without getting it. 
He noticed that the sophomore’s breath was coming 
66 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


in labored gasps and rushed him again. With a 
terrific hook to the stomach he lowered the big fel- 
low’s head and landed heavily on his jaw, but the 
man was indeed a very moose and withstood the 
blow though it dazed him a little. Relying on this 
Scott took his chance. He offered a beautiful 
opening which his opponent took eagerly, throwing 
all his waning strength into one mighty full-arm 
swing for Scott’s unprotected chin. 

Few in the audience realized what a risk Scott 
had really taken in trying to side-step a man like 
that, but he himself realized it to the full and 
planned it with the greatest care. He side-stepped 
with the agility of a cat, felt the glove just brush 
his cheek, and threw all the weight of his splendid 
shoulders into a hook to the jaw. The blow went 
true, and the big man wilted in his tracks. Scott 
caught him in his arms and was letting him gently 
to the ground, when he wriggled loose, staggered to 
his feet and struck at Scott blindly but savagely. 
Before he could fully recover, however, the whistle 
blew. 

Scott stood patiently in the ring waiting for the 
decision, but not so the crowd. Yelling wildly the 
freshmen descended with a rush on the one champ- 
ion the day had brought forth for them, heaved 
67 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


him on their shoulders, half clothed as he was, 
and swept across the campus through the crowd of 
spectators. He remonstrated and fought as hard 
as he had in the ring, but to no purpose. They 
carried him clear across the campus and out into 
the street. Scott would have given anything for 
even his undershirt. He had objected to stripping 
to the waist even there in the ring, but now that 
the match was over to be exhibited in this way to 
all those girls was intolerable. At last it ended. 
A hundred and eighty-five pounds is not a light 
weight to carry even if it is a hero and Scott man- 
aged at last to fight his way to the ground. He 
was wondering how he would ever get back to his 
clothes, even if they had not been carried off by the 
crowd, when the faithful Johnson pushed his way 
forward with them. 

“ Nbw get out of the way,” Johnson commanded 
the throng of admirers, “ and let me take him home 
for a little rest.” 

“ Scott,” he continued as he hustled him to the 
car, “ now you can go home and sit up all night for 
the rest of the winter. Yes, and hanged if you 
can't eat my desserts for the next six years.” 

“ Humph,” Scott grunted good-naturedly, “ and 
all just because I won.” 


68 


CHAPTER V 



S the boys sat in their room that evening 


in their pajamas talking over the events 


of the day Scott was impressed more than 


ever with Johnson’s strange philosophies, ap- 
parently gathered from almost unlimited experience. 
Johnson was in a very good humor over the results 
of the boxing match and Scott thought it a good 
opportunity to get him to tell his story. 

“ Johnson,” he asked curiously, “ where haven’t 
you been? You don’t look very old but there does 
not seem to be any place that you have not worked in 
all the United States.” 

“ Well,” Johnson answered, “ I have never been 
to the South or East, but there are not many sec- 
tions of the West that I have not seen.” 

“ How did you do it? ” Scott urged. “ You said 
that I could sit up all night, you know, and I could 
listen very contentedly to an account of all your 
wanderings. They must be interesting for I sup- 
pose you beat your way everywhere. Come on, 
let’s have the whole story,” and he settled himself 
down to listen. 


69 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Johnson, who loved to have an audience for his 
adventures, was in his glory. He had had adven- 
tures galore and they lost nothing in his telling of 
them. 

“If you really do not want to sleep for an hour ” 
he said, “ I’ll tell you about them, but there is no 
use in trying to do it in less. It covers a great 
many years in spite of my young and boyish face. 

“ You asked me to tell you about my work. 
Well, that began when I was six years old. My 
father was a teamster in Duluth, and I was the 
oldest of eight children. The old man did not be- 
lieve in any idlers in the house, and one morning 
when I was about six he kicked me out the front 
door and told me not to come back till I had earned 
something.” Johnson had never been taught any 
family pride and made no attempt to shield either 
his family or himself. 

“ There are a good many things I have forgotten 
since then, but I remember perfectly well what a 
pickle I was in that morning. I had had too many 
of those kicks to try to go back so I paddled away 
right up to the main street howling like a good fel- 
low. Nobody paid any attention to me till I ran 
into a newsboy. 

“ ‘ Hello, sonny,’ he said, ‘ what’s the matter with 
70 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


you ? Lost a million on the races ? ’ I told him 
my troubles and he handed me a bundle of papers 
and told me he’d give me a cent for every ten I 
sold. ‘ Don’t quit crying,’ he said, * keep it right up. 
That ought to sell them if anything will.’ 

“ I made five cents out of it that morning and 
went home happy. The old man came in to din- 
ner, took the money for my board and told me to 
get some more that afternoon. The newsy stocked 
me up again and I was such a little kid that lots of 
people bought from me. Well, I kept at that paper 
business for a long time, but the old man kept tak- 
ing all of my money for board and it was not en- 
couraging. At last I got wise enough not to take 
home all I earned and began to get ahead a little. 

“When I was not selling papers I took to run- 
ning errands and finally became a regular messenger 
boy. I learned to read the papers while I was sell- 
ing them. I tell you I learned things on that mes- 
senger job. A messenger boy on a night shift sees 
everything in a town except the inside of the 
churches. One night about two a. m. I took a mes- 
sage away up town. It took a long time to get 
anybody up, but finally an oldish man came to the 
door. He looked at me a minute without taking 
the message I was trying to give him, and then 
7i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


pulled me into the house by the back of the neck. 

“ * What are you doing out at this time of night ? ’ 
he asked sternly. 

“ I was sassy and told him that it was his fault 
for getting a message at that time of night. 

“ He took my number, and I thought for a while 
that he was going to have me fired, but he was not 
that kind. He was a Catholic priest. When he 
turned up at the office the next afternoon I was 
scared. He simply collared me and led me away. 
He took me to one of the big hotels and right up 
to the proprietor. * Here he is/ he said. Then he 
turned to me. ‘ You’re going to be bellhop here 
from four o’clock in the afternoon on, and in the 
daytime you’re going to school. I’ll come here in 
the morning with you and see that you get started.’ 

“ Well, that suited me fine. I had always wanted 
to go to school. He started me in in the morning 
and kept tab on me as long as I stayed there. When 
my old man found that I had a good job he tried 
to get me back home, but the priest settled him and 
I have not been home since. By the time I had 
reached the eighth grade I had worked in about 
every job there was in Duluth. But it was in the 
bellhop job that I got my hunch. A couple of 
foresters stopped there one evening and sat talking 
72 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


where I could hear them. Their talk showed me 
what I wanted to do. I talked to one of them and 
found out something about it. 

“ That meant that I had to go to the University, 
and if I went to the University I had to have some 
money. Then I had heard those fellows say that 
what a man wanted was experience in the woods 
and with men. That summer my wanderings 
started. I learned at the employment agency that 
they needed men on a construction crew in North 
Dakota. They booked me and I went. I drove 
team on a slusher for two months. It was a tough 
outfit, but they did not have anything on me there, 
and I learned to handle a team. I had never had 
anything to do with one before. When the harvest 
started I skipped the crew and went to hauling water 
for a threshing crew. They paid twice as much.” 

“ Had to work about twenty hours a day, didn’t 
you?” 

“ Yes, but I did not mind that. That fall I en- 
tered the high school. When summer came times 
were pretty hard and work was scarce. I jumped 
a freight and beat my way to the Pacific Coast. 
The brakeman happened to kick me off in the apple 
region of Washington — I did not have any more 
money to tip him — and I got a job there packing 
73 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


apples. Paid pretty well, but the Chinks were a 
dirty lot to work with. When the apples were all 
packed I beat my way up to the Puget Sound dis- 
trict and got another job in a lumber camp cutting 
wood for a donkey engine. That was some hard 
work but I learned a lot about the logging. I had 
a fierce time trying to get home. I got kicked off 
so many times that I finally had to pay my fare 
back from Missoula. Got back a month late for 
school then. 

“ Back in school again I still held onto the bell- 
hop job. I knew that if a man was going to get 
along well he had to be a good mixer. I learned 
that at the hotel. Gee, it was tough. I had such 
a poor start at home that every summer I lost nearly 
all I had gained in the winter. What little manners 
I have are only smeared on the outside and they 
keep cracking off. 

“ The next summer I shipped to Colorado to 
work in the mines. That did not last long. It 
paid pretty well, but I had to work on the grave- 
yard shift from eleven at night till seven in the 
morning, and I could not stand being shut up all 
the time. So I wandered down into the southwest 
part of the state, and worked in a lumber camp 
there. Great sport working up on top of a mesa 
74 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

nine thousand feet above sea-level, trying to swing 
a five-pound ax when you hadn’t the breath to lift 
a paper weight. You could puff with all your might 
there but the air did not seem to be any good; the 
more you puffed the more you got winded. I got 
used to it after a while. There were some queer 
duffers in that camp, * lungers ’ who had come out 
for their health. One fellow was a school teacher 
from Philadelphia. We worked together on a saw 
crew, and he undertook to teach me Spanish. Be- 
fore the summer was over he had me chattering 
like a greaser. I managed to teach him a little 
Swedish. The combination was fierce. 

“ I beat my way home through Kansas City, and 
was a month late for school again. The old priest 
offered me a job as a sort of secretary. Said it 
would help to give me a little culture, and as that 
was what I was after I took it. It was great ex- 
perience and he saw to it that I was not overworked. 
He was certainly a dandy. That spring he gave me 
a letter to some friends of his up north of Lake 
Superior and I worked on a summer logging 
job.” 

“ That was great luck, wasn’t it ? ” Scott com- 
mented. 

“ Yes, I thought so at first. Those people were 

75 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

very good about giving me a job, but I never came 
so near earning my money in my life. I was ‘ bull 
cook ’ and messenger boy. They had me up at day- 
break, which is shortly after two o’clock in that 
country in the summertime, and kept me going till 
dark, about ten. I had to cut the wood for the 
kitchen stove and keep the whole camp supplied 
with water, sweep out all the buildings every day 
and do anything else that blamed cook could think 
of. He had the indigestion so badly he could not 
see straight — most of those camp cooks have from 
‘ lunching ’ so much between meals — and it had 
ruined his disposition. The only rest I got was 
when he sent me out to the woods at noon with the 
men’s dinner. I usually stayed out most of the 
afternoon watching the logging. The boss was 
onto the game, but knew what the cook was and 
did not kick. The cook did, though. I used to be 
so sore sometimes when I had been out a little later 
than usual that I would eat supper standing up. 
But when fall came I knew something about sum- 
mer logging, and more about the northern lumber- 
jacks, especially cooks. 

“ The last year of the high school with the job as 
the priest’s secretary to help out was a cinch. 
Everybody knew what a rough kid I had been and 
76 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

helped me along. That summer I made the longest 
jump of all. There are a lot of people in Duluth 
who are interested in copper mines in the south- 
west, and one of them offered me a job as time- 
keeper. That took me down into Arizona near the 
Mexican line. The office work kept me so busy 
that I did not have a chance to see anything, and the 
thought of being in that new country without seeing 
things was too much for me. 

“ I jumped the job at the end of the first month 
and struck down into Mexico. My greaser talk 
came in handy then. I finally picked up a job as 
timekeeper on a railroad construction crew. That 
was great, for they were just putting the finishing 
touches on a road, and moved fast. I saw lots of 
the country. 

“ I had one pretty strange experience there that 
scared me badly at the time. One of the engineers 
who was superintending the job was an American 
and a dandy fellow, but he was pretty sharp to those 
Mexicans ; used to make them . work harder than 
they liked. One day he kicked a fellow who re- 
fused to dig out a grade stake for him. The greaser 
did not do anything at the time, but when you insult 
one of those fellows you ought to kill him right 
there, for he’ll lay for you. 

77 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ That afternoon I was asleep on a flat car while 
the train was running around the side of a mountain 
to a new work station, when I heard someone jump 
down onto the flat from a box car. I opened one 
eye and saw that it was the greaser who had been 
kicked. He glanced at me, thought I was asleep, 
and started to climb onto the next box car behind. 
I didn’t think anything of it till I saw that he had a 
knife in his hand. That woke me up pretty quick 
for I knew how they fought. As soon as he was 
up the ladder I started up after him to see what was 
going on. 

“ When I peeped over the edge of that box car 
there was the greaser sneaking slowly up on the 
engineer, who was asleep on his back. There 
wasn’t any time to lose and I yelled like an Indian. 
I never saw anything so cool as that engineer. He 
opened his eyes with a jerk, rolled over once to 
dodge the knife, jumped to his feet, and knocked 
that greaser off the box car down the side of the 
mountain with one blow. He did not even look to 
see where he landed. He saw me staring over the 
edge of the box car with my eyes hanging out on 
my cheeks, and said, * Good boy, kid.’ With that 
he lay quietly down on his back again. I didn’t 
sleep for a week but it didn’t seem to bother him 
78 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


any, or anybody else. There was never anything 
said about it.” 

“ Didn’t the courts investigate it?” Scott asked 
in surprise. 

“No, a greaser does not count there. 

“ When we finished the line we were away down 
in Southern Mexico ; it was time for college to begin 
and no way to get back. I made my way across 
country to the nearest seaport and found a steamer 
just about to sail. A greaser there said she was 
bound for New Orleans, and I stowed myself away 
in the hold. 

“ It was stuffy in that old pit and I thought we 
would never get to New Orleans. My grub began 
to give out and I lived on half rations for four days 
and on nothing for two. I had just finished the 
last of my water, and had decided to try to get out 
when we docked and the hold was opened up. I 
managed to sneak out in the night and hid in the 
warehouse. I did not know much about what New 
Orleans looked like, but I did not think so many of 
the people there were Spaniards. Then I found out 
that it was Buenos Ayres instead of New Orleans. 
That pesky ship had been sailing the wrong way.” 

“ That was certainly a good one on you,” Scott 
laughed. 


79 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Yes/’ Johnson bragged. “ Fortune has had 
many a good one on me, but nobody else has. 

“ Well, I was too late for college then, so I stayed 
to work in the warehouse awhile, and took a trip 
back into the country. The place looked pretty 
good to me and I came near staying there, but I 
had been working too long to get to the University 
to let it go. So I took a job on a sailing vessel and 
reached New York about February i. I beat my 
way West with the idea of entering the University 
at the beginning of the second semester, but they 
would not let me. 

“ You know how I worked around College all 
last spring, carried a rod in a survey party in Wis- 
consin all last summer and have been trotting up 
and down this blooming hill to lectures all fall. 
Now I reckon I have talked you to sleep, so I’ll go 
myself.” 

Scott did not speak for a minute, but it was not 
because he was asleep. The very carelessness with 
which Johnson related his wonderful achievements, 
and the utter lack of conceit in his almost super- 
human efforts to rise in the world, added to the 
fascination of it. Scott was thinking what a bed 
of roses his life had been compared with Johnson’s, 
what a tremendous handicap he had been working 
80 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


under, and yet how little he had the advantage of 
Johnson. Even that little advantage was tem- 
porary, for a man with that experience of life would 
soon distance him when he finally started his real 
work. 

“ By George, Johnson,” he said, starting up sud- 
denly, “ you’re a hero.” 

But the hero made no answer, for true to his 
word he was already asleep. 

Scott lay awake for a while thinking it over. 
He wondered what his father would think of John- 
son as a chosen companion. Judged on the basis 
of family as was the custom at home Johnson would 
be rejected but he felt in his heart that Johnson had 
certainly earned a place in the world and finally 
went to sleep convinced that if he could not get his 
ten thousand acres without discarding Johnson he 
would go without it. 


CHAPTER VI 


F ROM the moment that he out-boxed that 
big sophomore, thus saving the honor of 
the class and bringing everlasting glory to 
the foresters, Scott's reputation was established. 
From an unknown stranger passing quietly and un- 
noticed from class to class, he had become the lion 
of the College and one of the “ popular ” men of 
the University. Men he had never known hailed 
him familiarly on the street and in the corridors; 
girls he had never met smiled at him frankly. A 
reporter tried to get an interview with him for a 
big daily paper. Clubs, societies, associations, 
fraternities, organizations of which he would never 
have had any knowledge if it had not been for that 
fateful boxing match, opened their doors to him 
and invited him cordially to enter. After the quiet 
life he had led in the little village, with his limited 
acquaintance and Dick Bradshaw for his only in- 
timate friend, this new life opening before him 
thrilled him and tingled through his blood like old 
wine. He remembered his father’s injunction to 
82 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


mix, to study men and learn human character; his 
new life would give him the opportunity to do it. 

He thought he knew now what his father had 
meant by “ responsible companions,” and felt that 
the fulfillment of that part of the condition for the 
ten thousand acres was as good as accom- 
plished. 

He accepted many of the invitations, took an in- 
terest in many of the student activities opened to 
him, and began to drift more and more into society. 
His after-supper hour of recreation stretched to 
two, three, and even four hours, till it looked as 
though he would have to carry out the threat he 
had made to Johnson that he would sit up all night 
studying after the match. Many of his new amuse- 
ments were expensive, and he soon found himself 
exceeding his allowance. At last the theater 
parties, fraternity dances and other diversions be- 
came so frequent that he found it impossible to get 
in the hours of study he had prescribed for him- 
self. 

He wrote to Dick Bradshaw of his triumph in the 
championship match and the consequent honors and 
civilities that had been heaped upon him. He wrote 
to his father of his wide acquaintance, of his active 
participation in the life of the University as a whole, 
83 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and the great success he was making. Incidentally 
he asked for an increased allowance. 

In short, Scotty’s head was rapidly being turned 
by his sudden rise to the position of popular idol. 
He knew in his heart that he was acting foolishly, 
and would have condemned his own actions if he 
had taken the time to think seriously about them, 
but he was too busy and too hilariously happy to 
think about them at all. 

This had been going on for about a month when 
an impending examination in a subject that he had 
been sorely neglecting forced him to put in a quiet 
evening’s study with Johnson. Such evenings had 
become exceedingly rare of late, and for the first 
time in his life he found that intense studying for 
a long time was irksome, in fact he found it hard 
to concentrate his mind enough to study intensely 
at all. 

About eleven o’clock he yawned, looked longingly 
at the bed and closed his book with a bang. What 
was the use of studying so hard, anyway, the ex- 
amination would take care of itself, he had never 
failed in one in his life. Johnson, who had missed 
Scott sorely in his long lonesome evenings of study 
had been watching him furtively with an expres- 
sion, half pitying, half contemptuous. He had come 
84 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

to admire Scott intensely, and he hated to see his 
hero falling so rapidly, and for the objects he had 
always considered so trivial. He thought that Scott 
would probably resent any criticism from him, but 
he was still loyal. He had trained Scott up to that 
fight and if possible he was going to train him down 
again. He was no coward and grasped the op- 
portunity to put the disagreeable business through 
without delay. 

“ Quitting already?” he asked casually, as Scott 
slammed to his book. 

“ Yes,” Scott answered with another yawn, “ I’m 
going to bed. I’m sleepy and sick of the stuff. 
Guess I know enough to pass anyway.” 

“ Scotty,” Johnson asked bluntly, “ how much al- 
lowance have you? ” 

Scott looked up in surprise, for it was the first 
time that Johnson had ever asked him such a ques- 
tion, and he did not see what he was after. But he 
answered frankly. “ Forty dollars a month, but 
I’m running shy. Did you want to borrow 
some? ” 

“ No,” Johnson answered somewhat proudly, “ I 
earn all I need. Bronson has five hundred a month, 
Swanson six, and Edwards all he can use.” 

These were some of the men Scott had been going 
85 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

with but he could not see the point of Johnson’s re- 
mark. 

“ What’s that got to do with it?” 

Johnson came out with it like a man. “ Just this, 
Scotty. Those fellows all have dollars to your 
pennies and they are going a pace that you cannot 
stand. They don’t care whether they get through 
College in four years or forty. If you try to keep 
up with them you will soon be in debt up to your 
ears, and as soon as all your money’s gone they will 
drop you like a hot cake. You’re not in their 
class.” 

“ Not in their class! ” Scott answered indignantly. 
“ My family is as good as, or better than theirs, 
any day and that’s what counts. It does not mat- 
ter home whether you have money or not as long 
as your family is all right. You can pick all the 
millionaires you want for company.” 

“ It may be all right there,” Johnson answered 
quietly, “ but it won’t work here. If you have 
money it does not matter whether your father was 
a garbage man or the President of the United 
States ; but believe me, you have to have the money.” 

“ It has not worked that way so far,” Scott an- 
swered defiantly, “ and when it does I guess I’ll 
know it without being told.” 

86 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ And in the meantime you are getting in debt 
deeper every day and that with your father’s 
money. ,, 

“ Is that your business? ” Scott cried angrily. It 
had caused him some compunction to ask his father 
to increase his allowance when he knew the poor 
doctor could ill afford it, and the shot hurt him. 

“ No,” Johnson sighed, “ it’s none of my busi- 
ness, and I knew I should be unpopular for butting 
in, but I had to warn you. A man who comes 
from Massachusetts to Minnesota on an allowance 
of forty dollars per month and takes the amount of 
work that you are taking to save a year’s expenses 
is not in a position to run with a bunch of million- 
aires and flunk in all his studies. If you are be- 
hind in a single study at the end of the first eight 
weeks you’ll have to drop all that extra work, and 
at the rate you have been going you will be behind 
in a good deal more than one. I’m through now. 
Think about it before you get too mad,” and he 
rose to go to bed. 

“ I’ve never flunked in a subject yet,” Scott an- 
swered haughtily. “ I can take care of my studies 
by myself and I do not consider that you can give 
me many points on my social activities.” 

“If that’s the way you feel about it,” Johnson 

87 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


said with quiet dignity, “ you’d better go room with 
someone your equal. I am neither a millionaire nor 
a society leader.” 

“ It’s too late tonight,” Scott said angrily, “ but 
I’ll get out fast enough in the morning.” 

“ Good hunch,” Johnson said with apparent in- 
difference, though it really cut him deeply. He was 
not angry. He had foreseen all this before he spoke 
at all. He knew it was the best thing for Scott and 
he was willing to swallow all these indignities for 
his sake. He longed to tell Scott how much he 
cared for him, but that was out of the question 
under the circumstances. He knew that Scott 
would come to his senses and thank him some day, 
but in any event he felt that he had acted the part 
of a true friend. He crawled into bed with a deep 
sigh of regret, nearer to a sob than he had come for 
many years. 

Scott sat before the table for some time, his chin 
on his chest, and a scowl on his face, sullenly flap- 
ping the cover of his notebook. He felt bitter 
against Johnson, for he knew in his heart that 
Johnson was right, and the truth always cuts deeper 
than anything else. He thought how his father, 
already worried over his request for increased al- 
lowance, would grieve if he should fail in any of 
88 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


his studies, and he thought of his mother’s advice. 
Already there were some things that he did not care 
to write her. 

The flapping of the notebook cover fanned a yel- 
low envelope out from between the leaves. He had 
taken it out of his post office box and dropped it in 
his notebook without reading it. He tore it open 
idly and glanced at it. The next instant he was sit- 
ting bolt upright reading with unbelieving eyes the 
following terse note : 

\ Committee on Students ’ Work 

ii/i/ii. 

Your record for the first six weeks’ work shows that you 
are behind in three subjects. Report to this office at 
once or your registration will be canceled. 

Scott gazed at the paper half dazed. Coming as 
it did on top of Johnson’s harangue it brought him 
to his senses with a sudden jerk. It was the first 
time in his life that he had ever fallen short in his 
studies, and his hurt pride rose triumphant over his 
social aspirations. What Johnson’s loyal advice 
had failed to do — probably never would have done 
— this blow at his student’s reputation did instantly. 
Johnson had only aroused him to stubborn anger; 
this cold-blooded sentence forced him to think and 
use his reason. 


89 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Where was he going anyway? What did the 
pleasures and associations which had loomed so big 
to him in the past few weeks amount to? Why 
did those men seek his company when he knew that 
they spoke always contemptuously of other poor 
men as good as he? His head had been so turned 
by the flattery that he had imagined it was on ac- 
count of his sterling qualities. 

He viewed it through the glass of cold reason 
now and the truth dawned on him, burst forth so 
clearly that he wondered why he had not seen it 
before. He remembered how one of the men who 
disliked dogs had paid five hundred dollars for the 
prize winner at the Minneapolis show and he shiv- 
ered as he realized the truth. He was the prize dog 
in the under-class boxing match. The humiliation 
of the truth, and he knew now that it was the truth, 
angered him beyond reason at first, and then filled 
him with disgust at his own weakness. 

And how about the responsible companions he 
had been priding himself on a short time before? 
He knew that Johnson had judged them aright and 
he knew his father’s judgment would be the same. 
Moreover, he recognized in that little yellow en- 
velope the first symptoms of another obstacle that, 
unless quickly overcome, would put that magnificent 
90 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


chance at a forest estate far beyond his reach. 

He realized then the true loyalty of Johnson. 
He knew how it must have pained Johnson to say 
what he had said, and how it must have hurt him 
to have his friendship misconstrued. What one of 
those millionaires would have done as much for 
him, the prize pup, or would even have thought 
twice whether he was disgracing himself or not? 
He thought how his admiration for Johnson had 
been slowly dying under the new influences, and 
remorse almost choked him. He strode quickly 
over to the bed to apologize, but Johnson slept 
so peacefully that he did not have the heart to 
wake him after the pain he had already caused 
him. 

He took up his notebook resolutely and began to 
study. At five o’clock he slipped quietly into bed 
encouraged by the feeling that he was once more 
well prepared for an examination. But sleep did 
not come at once. He lay for almost an hour wide 
awake and wondering how he could ever have been 
so foolish as to let a little flattery run away so com- 
pletely with his common sense. More especially he 
longed to apologize to Johnson. Dear old Johnson 
whom he had so shamefully neglected for the past 
month. Not only had he neglected him, but had 
9i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


actually begun to look down on him. He saw him 
in his true proportions again now and longed to 
tell him how much he looked up to him. Scott was 
no cad and he was anxious to confess to Johnson 
the extent of his fall. At last he fell into a rest- 
less sleep. Only after an hour of this tossing about 
did the sleep become profound. 

When Scott finally awoke with a start it was to 
find Johnson gone. He had just time to make his 
examination if he went without breakfast. He 
tumbled into his clothes and ran all the way to the 
recitation hall. He went at his examination in 
dendrology with his oldtime certainty, and re- 
paired straight to the Students’ Work Committee. 
He found that he was not by any means alone in his 
disgrace. The room was crowded, some contrite, 
some indifferent, some defiant. Case after case was 
discussed in the chairman’s office and disposed of. 
At last liis own turn came. The chairman looked at 
him inquiringly. 

“ Burton,” Scott answered to the implied inquiry 
and turned red to the very ears. 

The chairman picked a card from the case in 
front of him, glanced over it and looked him in the 
eye searchingly. “ Well, Burton, your record 
shows that you are behind in dendrology, forest en- 
92 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

tomology and forest engineering. What’s the mat- 
ter?” 

Scott blushed violently, but confessed frankly. 
“ I lost my head and tried to do too much society. 
I neglected my studies. I think I have waked up 
now.” 

“ A wholesome confession is good for the soul,” 
the chairman laughed. “ Report to me one week 
from today and remember, if you are below in a 
single study at the end of another six weeks, you’ll 
probably have to drop all that extra work and maybe 
some more besides.” 

The chairman rang for the next victim, and Scott 
blushed his way out through the crowd. He felt 
tremendously relieved. He knew that he could 
make good in that work and registered a vow that 
that committee would never have to call him up 
again. 

This trying ordeal over he hurried back to the 
room to find Johnson. The room had a rather des- 
olate look and Scott was wondering what was the 
matter with it when he spied a note on the table. 
He read it half dazed. 

Since you did not carry out your promise to move, I 
moved myself. I have some self-respect. 


93 


Johnson. 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


It was Johnson’s one great short-coming, lack of 
tact, and Scott’s longing for forgiveness turned once 
more to anger. He was blinded to the kindness 
which had prompted Johnson to warn him and for- 
got the insults with which he had received it. He 
could see in it now only an impertinent interference 
in his private affairs and railed against Johnson as 
a mucker who would not accept an apology even 
when he did not deserve it. He forgot that Johnson 
knew nothing of his change of heart, and felt bitter 
against him. All thought of apology had van- 
ished. 

He was still in this frame of mind when Green- 
leaf came into the room. 

“ Hello, Scotty,” he said, “ I met Johnson mov- 
ing his belongings a while ago. Said you and he 
had a falling out. They have sold the house where 
I am rooming and are going to turn me out. Do 
you want a roommate ? ” 

“ Sure,” Scott said promptly, “ I’ll help you move 
in now.” 

So the door was closed to Johnson’s return. The 
new arrangement gave Scott little chance to think it 
over. Had he thought the matter over calmly he 
would probably have sought Johnson out and apolo- 
gized to him at any cost to his own pride, but he 
94 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

did not let himself think about it and harbored his 
unjust bitterness. 

Greenleaf was a different type from Johnson. 
His father was a well-to-do lawyer who could very 
readily have allowed his son ample spending money 
and would have done so in the East, but preferred 
to follow the Western custom and make the boy 
earn his pocket money. Consequently Greenleaf, 
although blessed with a comfortable — even a lux- 
urious — home had spent most of his summers 
working at any kind of a job that he could get. 
He made a very congenial roommate, but Scott 
missed in him the breadth of mind and keen reason- 
ing powers which he had admired so much in John- 


son. 


CHAPTER VII 


T HE days slipped quietly by in the routine 
of work as of old and Scott was surprised 
to find how much more he really enjoyed 
himself than he had the previous month. The 
satisfaction of work well done more than paid for 
the loss of the amusements — for every classroom 
failure had cut him like a knife. His second meet- 
ing with the Students' Work Committee had no ter- 
rors for him now. He took to the Committee 
special reports from all his instructors and they 
were above reproach. The chairman smiled good- 
naturedly. “ Did some plugging, eh ? That’s the 
business; you’ll find it pays better than society. 
Plenty of time for that later. Keep it up and you 
need not come back.” 

Thanksgiving was approaching rapidly, bringing 
to Scott the first pangs of homesickness he had felt. 
Every Thanksgiving that he could remember he had 
sat down to a bounteous dinner in the old home and 
the prospect of celebrating the day in a boarding- 
house was not very bright. He had had an invita- 
96 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


tion to go home with Swanson, but had promptly 
canceled it when he realized that he was invited in 
the capacity of the prize pup. 

He was gloomily thinking over the prospect when 
Greenleaf burst into the room. He put his foot in 
Scott’s lap, jumped lightly to the table, and landed 
in his chair on the other side with a crash. The 
jar shook the entire house. Scott thought he had 
gone crazy, but Greenleaf beamed at him in perfect 
contentment. 

“ What are you going to do Thanksgiving ? ” he 
asked eagerly. “ Going to gorge yourself at that 
millionaire’s? ” 

“ No,” Scott laughed, “ I canceled that for fear 
they might make me eat in the barn with the other 
prize stock. I am going to gorge myself all I can 
at the boarding-house, but I hardly expect to injure 
myself there.” 

“ Cancel that too. I have a scheme worth ten of 
that. We have Thursday and Friday off. Sat- 
urday we have but one class, which we can cut with 
impunity. Let’s you and Morgan and Ormand and 
me, take a hike down the river to Wabasha. Mor- 
gan has a dog tent that will hold the four of us if 
it is put up as a lean-to and we can sleep wherever 
night catches us, as long as it is not in a town, 
97 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


We can collect all kinds of specimens for dendrology 
and have a whale of a time.” 

“ I thought you were going to work,” Scott ob- 
jected. 

“ So I was going to work, but didn’t you see me 
come in just now? I don’t come in that way every 
night, do I? I just received a check from the state 
for some fire-fighting that I did so long ago that I 
had forgotten it, and, by jingoes, I am going to 
celebrate.” 

“ That would certainly be a great stunt,” Scott 
agreed, “ and I don’t know of anything I’d rather 
do. I am crazy to have a look at the geology of 
that river bottom. Will the other fellows go?” 

“ Sure, I saw them both and they are in for it. 
They know the trees, the insects, and the fungi, not 
to mention some sylviculture, and methods of es- 
timating. You know the rocks and geology, and I 
know every bird and beast that moves in these 
parts. I tell you it will be great ! ” 

“ Where shall we get our meals ? ” Scott asked. 

“ I have a camp frying pan and a teakettle, and 
we can buy what grub we need at the stores we 
pass. Maybe we shall have some game, too, Or- 
mand is a dandy with that little Stevens pistol, and 
may catch something sitting around loose. To- 
98 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


morrow we'll get everything ready and the next 
day we’ll start good and early.” 

Scott’s homesickness vanished with the fancied 
smoke of the promised campfires. He had never 
really camped and the prospect of a Thanksgiving 
dinner in camp was very attractive. He hurried 
out to borrow a pack sack from Manning, and 
eagerly put in all his spare time the next day in 
minor preparations. He was tremendously ex- 
cited, but did not know exactly what to do. Green- 
leaf was no less excited over his unexpected holiday, 
but went about the preparations of his kit with the 
thoroughness of an old prospector. Ormand and 
Morgan came in the evening to discuss the final 
plans and hold a consultation over the equipment. 
They had left the purchasing of the supplies to 
Greenleaf. Ormand lounged on the bed and Mor- 
gan lay comfortably back in the easy chair, while 
Greenleaf, pencil in hand, read over the list of sup- 
plies. Scott felt his helplessness on such an 
occasion, and sat quietly back in a corner to lis- 
ten. 

“ I’ve figured out the supplies for the whole trip,” 
Greenleaf began, “ but I thought we could get just 
half of it now and stock again at Red Wing.” 

“ Sure,” Morgan assented. “ No use in our carry- 
99 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


J 

in g any more than we have to. Some of it we might 
as well get all at once, but we can restock on the 
heavy stuff.” 

“ Let’s hear the list,” Ormand grunted from the 
bed. 

“ Twelve pounds of flour,” Greenleaf started. 

“ Cut it out,” came in a chorus from the others. 

“ We’re not running a logging camp in the back- 
woods,” Morgan objected. “We can carry bread 
and save piles of trouble.” 

“ Well, if you’re really going to camp,” Green- 
leaf contended, “you ought to cook everything you 
need.” 

“ Fudge,” Ormand cried. “ We are going out for 
pleasure, not to see how much work we can do. 
That would be a freshman trick.” 

Greenleaf, overruled but entirely unabashed, pro- 
ceeded with the list. “ Eight pounds of bacon, two 
of oatmeal; two of sugar; six pints of condensed 
milk; two quarts of beans.” 

“ Eight cans,” Morgan corrected, “ but it would 
be great fun to have a bean hole if you would run 
ahead — half a day to start the fire.” 

“ Right you are,” Greenleaf conceded. “ I forgot 
that we did not have a cook and a pack mule. Two 
pounds of butter, one of salt, a quarter-pound of 
ioo 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


tea. How is that for grub ? Oh, yes, twelve 
loaves of bread for Morgan to tote.” 

“ Yes,” Morgan said, “ I'd rather tote it any day 
than try to eat your biscuits. Add two pounds of 
pancake flour and a can of syrup.” 

“ How about lard ? ” Scott ventured. 

“ Don’t need it when you have the bacon,” Or- 
mand objected, “ but you’d better add two pounds 
of cheese and a box of matches. Yes, and you’d 
better take one can of tomatoes, so we can have the 
can for a lantern.” 

“ Now for the dishes,” Greenleaf said. “ One 
frying pan; one teakettle; four tin cups; four 
spoons; two canteens.” 

“ One tomahawk,” Ormand added. 

“Do you call that a dish?” Greenleaf jeered. 
“ One pair of blankets apiece will be enough for us, 
and Morgan’s dog tent will complete the outfit.” 

“ One Stevens pistol and two boxes of cartridges,” 
Ormand added. 

They all thought silently for about five minutes, 
but could think of nothing else. 

“ Well,” Ormand said, rolling leisurely off the 
bed, “ you buy the stuff, Greenleaf, and bring it 
here, this is the nearest place to the carline. We’ll 
be here at six tomorrow morning, divide up the 

IOI 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


packs and take the car to the Indian Mounds. 
Good night.” 

The two seniors gone, Greenleaf devoted a few 
minutes to revising the list and picking out the things 
for immediate purchase. At last, after many altera- 
tions, it seemed to suit him. With one last critical 
glance at it he bounded out of his chair and started 
for the door. 

“ Come on, Scotty, bring your pack sack and we’ll 
get this grub. Then we’ll go to bed and get a good 
sleep. If you have never been in camp you prob- 
ably will not sleep much the first night, and better 
get all that’s coming to you now.” 

With the aid of the list the purchases were soon 
made at the corner grocery and the “ grub ” piled 
in one corner of the room. It looked to Scott like 
a rather small supply for four men for four days, 
but he felt that the others knew what they were 
about, and was satisfied to trust to their judgment. 
All the other duffel was collected in a heap ready for 
division in the morning. Then they went to bed. 

By a quarter of six they were dressed for the 
hike, and the other fellows had arrived. The packs 
were soon satisfactorily arranged and they hurried 
to the carline. It was a long ride to the Indian 
Mounds but they reached there by seven o’clock, 


102 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


slipped on their packs and hurried away down the 
river bank in search of a suitable place to get break- 
fast. They soon located a place in a small opening 
where an eight-inch stub had been broken in half by 
its fall. 

Morgan made the fire in record time. With 
Scott’s help he laid the two pieces of the tree- 
trunk side by side with about three inches between 
them. That was the self-burning fireplace. A 
handful of dried leaves, a bunch of small twigs, 
a match, and the fire was ready for the kettle. 
Scott thought it only the beginning of’ a fire and 
was busying himself collecting a wagon-load of 
dried limbs for fuel when Greenleaf came up with 
the kettle full of water and set it over the dimin- 
utive blaze. 

“ How long do you think it will take to boil 
there ? ” Scott asked sarcastically. 

“ About five minutes,” Greenleaf answered cheer- 
fully, missing the sarcasm. 

Scott saw that he was sincere, and decided to 
time it rather than chance showing his ignorance 
by disputing it now. In the meanwhile Ormand 
had unpacked the oatmeal, sugar, a can of milk, 
the tin cups and spoons. 

“ How about pancakes ? ” he called. 

103 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Too late this morning,” Morgan answered, and 
the pancake flour was left in the pack. 

Scott was watching the fire with considerable 
interest. Greenleaf sat patiently beside it, oc- 
casionally poking tiny twigs in between the logs, 
but never on any account overfeeding it. In a few 
seconds over the prescribed five minutes the water 
began to boil. Greenleaf immediately removed it 
from the fire, dropped into it a small bag contain- 
ing a heaping teaspoonful of tea, and getting two 
of the canteens, which Scott had looked upon as 
superfluous baggage, considering the number of 
houses they would pass, leaned them carefully 
against one of the logs with their uncorked mouths 
up. Five minutes later he fished out the little bag 
and poured the tea into the canteens, which he 
corked immediately. 

No sooner was the tea out of the kettle than 
Ormand rinsed it and poured into it a cup of oat- 
meal and three cups of water which he had already 
brought to a boil in the frying pan. He put the 
kettle back on the fire, dropped in a pinch of salt, 
and proceeded to trim a good stiff, green stick. 
With this he began to stir the oatmeal vigorously, 
at the same time feeding the fire with the other 
hand. 


104 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ Anybody want any tea before he has his oat- 
meal ?” Greenleaf asked. They all did. The 
smoking tea was poured into the tin cups, a can 
of condensed milk punctured in two places with a 
nail which Greenleaf produced from his pocket — 
“ I always carry a nail,” he explained, “ a round 
hole is so much easier to plug,” — and the tea was 
adjusted to every individual taste. Ormand 
stopped feeding the fire long enough to manage his 
tea with one hand, but never left off stirring for 
a second. They all sipped their tea contentedly 
until Ormand announced that the oatmeal was 
“ done.” 

It was then dealt out into the teacups, sugared 
and plastered with the undiluted milk. The cook- 
ing being over Morgan piled some larger sticks on 
the fire and they sat around it comfortably. Scott 
was very much surprised to see how very full a 
cupful of oatmeal made him feel. 

Breakfast over, Morgan rolled the two logs apart 
so that by the time the teacups and the teakettle 
had been sand-scoured and rinsed out in the little 
stream the fire was almost out. A pot or two of 
water on the dying embers, the cups strung on the 
individual belts, and the party was ready to move. 
The most astonishing part to Scott was the perfect 
105 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


harmony of all the actions, and the promptness with 
which each one performed his part when he knew 
that they were not acting on any prearranged plan. 
He was to have a still more striking exhibition of 
this freemasonry of the woods when the little camp 
was pitched for the night. 

Ormand took the lead and the four filed away 
down the river. Very little was said. Each man 
was wriggling himself into harmony with his pack 
and too full of the sheer joy of being once more in 
the open to care to talk. The houses very quickly 
ceased to obtrude themselves and Scott was sur- 
prised to see how soon they were in practically 
uninhabited woods. The flat river bottom was 
here very narrow and the cliffs rose almost at right 
angles to a height of one hundred and fifty feet. 
Frequent streams crossed their path, emerging from 
miniature gorges in the cliffs, and hurrying across 
the narrow strip of bottom land to the river. 
Trees there were in plenty, many of them species 
which Scott did not expect to find at all in such 
places. 

At the end of an hour and a half of steady walk- 
ing Ormand declared that it was time for a rest, 
and dropping his pack at the foot of a big elm tree, 
sat down beside it. All the others followed his 
io 6 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


example and they were soon comfortably settled 
in a little hollow protected from the wind. 

“ Great day for a hike,” Morgan exclaimed. 
“ Just about cold enough to make it pleasant. The 
buds are all well formed so that you can identify 
things, and the leaves gone so that you can see 
something.” 

“ Yes,” Ormand agreed, “ you can see our 
Thanksgiving dinner running all around us. Did 
you ever see so many rabbits ? ” 

Greenleaf produced a bunch of twigs he had col- 
lected along the way. “ Here’s where you fellows 
take an examination in dendrology. Of course you 
know all these species from their buds, or think 
you do, and now we’ll see about it. Scotty and I 
are not supposed to know anything yet except the 
conifers, but we’ll see if you can outguess us. 
Here, for instance,” he proceeded in the tone of a 
man with a megaphone on a sight seeing automo- 
bile, “ is a small twig on which there are five per- 
fectly good buds. Mr. Morgan, you will please 
elucidate.” 

Morgan examined the twig carelessly and handed 
it to Ormand, who passed it on to Scott. 

“ Elm,” Morgan announced confidently. The 
others nodded assent. 


107 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Sure,” Greenleaf jeered, “any jay knows that. 
But now for this neat little fellow.” He handed 
over a somewhat similar looking twig, but more 
slender, and with sharper buds standing well out 
from the twig. Morgan examined this one much 
more carefully, bit it, tasted it, bent it, passed it on. 
The others repeated the performance. When it 
had completed the rounds Morgan declared himself 
for white birch. Ormand immediately disagreed 
with him, and, after considerable hesitation, de- 
clared himself for blue beech. 

" The buds are too big,” objected Morgan. 

Scott was completely at sea. 

“ Very good, very good, gentlemen,” Greenleaf 
jeered, “ but I broke it off an ironwood tree.” 

The twig then went the rounds once more and 
was readily identified by the green on the buds. 

“ Humph,” Greenleaf grunted, “ seems pretty 
easy when I have told you what it is.” 

This became the favorite amusement at every 
stop that was made, and all along the line of march 
the identity of every tree concerning which there 
was any doubt, was settled to the satisfaction of 
everyone. Scott soon learned the trees well 
enough to take part in the discussions, and added 
to the interest of the stops by quizzing the others 
108 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


on specimens of rock he had collected, or explain- 
ing the physiography of the country through which 
they were passing. On the present occasion the 
stop was of brief duration. They planned to cele- 
brate Thanksgiving in the usual manner with a big 
dinner in the middle of the afternoon and no more 
hiking that day. With this object in view they had 
elected to camp about two miles below Hastings, 
which they reached at half past two. 

Scott was anxious to see how such a tiny tent 
as they were packing could possibly be made to 
accommodate four good-sized men. His curiosity 
was still further aroused by the eagerness with 
which the others seemed to be looking for a large 
fallen tree. A shout from Ormand brought the 
party to a halt. 

“ Here she is. Just where we want her, too.” 
The “ she ” referred to a large rotten log lying 
parallel to the river bank and some thirty feet from 
it. 

Ormand began singing out orders like a major 
general even before he had slipped out of his pack. 
“ Morgan, you build the fire and get the kettle on. 
Greenleaf, you and Scotty put up the tent and make 
the beds. Fll go get the turkey.” And he dis- 
appeared in the bushes. 


109 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Greenleaf immediately took charge of the oper- 
ation. “ You unpack the tent, Scotty, while I cut 
the poles.” Scott busied himself with the pack 
while Greenleaf went circling through the neigh- 
boring woods eying critically every sapling he 
passed. An occasional sound of chopping an- 
nounced the discovery of the sought-for pieces. In 
ten minutes he was back with two pieces, each three 
and a half feet long and forked at one end, a long 
slender pole, and two heavier poles about twelve 
feet long. 

Scott buttoned the two halves of the dog tent 
together and watched Greenleaf chopping off the 
brush and smoothing the ground on the south side 
of the log. When this was completed to Green- 
leaf’s satisfaction, and he was very particular 
about it, he stretched the straight edge of the tent 
— what would ordinarily have been the front — 
tight along the log. He then produced from his 
pocket three twenty-penny spikes which he pro- 
ceeded to drive through the brass eyelets into the 
log. 

He and Scott stretched the tent out flat in a 
horizontal position and pushed the two forked 
sticks into the ground just outside of the front 
corners. On these two forked sticks the slender 


no 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


pole was laid and the front corners of the tent tied 
to it, thus keeping the canvas taut. The heavy 
poles were then pushed butt first through the forked 
sticks, under the canvass, over the slender pole, 
over the log, and shoved firmly into the ground 
behind the log. The flaps which usually form the 
back of the tent were then extended to their full 
length and tied to the ends of the heavy poles. In 
just fifteen minutes the little lean-to was completed 
and as steady as could be desired. 

They collected a big pile of dead leaves, which 
they spread evenly on the ground under the canvas 
for a mattress, and spread the blankets over them. 
In the meanwhile Morgan had built a fire similar 
to the one they had used in the morning and had 
the kettle boiling merrily. He had also collected 
a big pile of green wood for the night fire. 

Just as they finished their work Ormand bounded 
into camp with two rabbits he had shot with his 
twenty-two pistol. The tea was made as before 
and another kettle of water put on immediately. 
Greenleaf was in favor of boiling the rabbits in 
the teakettle, but Morgan insisted on stewing them 
in the frying pan. Two cans of beans were punc- 
tured and placed in the fire to warm. Scott spread 
out the other stores and in an hour from the time 


hi 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


they had found the log they were seated around 
their Thanksgiving dinner. Some more critical 
guests might have found fault with it, but for them 
it could not have been improved. A bag of apples 
which Scott had bought on his way through Hast- 
ings nobly topped off the feast. 

The meal over they repaired to the tent to enjoy 
themselves. As the evening was rather cold they 
heaped leaves at the end of the tent to keep out 
the wind and built a good big fire in front of it. 
Under that little flap of canvas it was warm as 
toast. In this cozy little retreat they spent the 
evening telling yarns and discussing the plans for 
the rest of the trip. When the last of the apples 
had been disposed of they remodeled the fire for the 
night, and rolling in their blankets they were soon 
lost to the world. In spite of all the predictions for 
a sleepless night for Scott he was the first one 
asleep and the last one to wake up in the morning. 


CHAPTER VIII 


G REENLEAF rolled the others out in the 
morning while it was still dark and 
breakfast was disposed of in short order. 
It was a repetition of the morning before except 
that pancakes and bacon were added to the menu. 
As soon as the dishes were rubbed clean in the 
sand from the river bed and the packs made up 
the party was again on the trail. 

They made good time the second day in spite of 
the slight soreness in their necks and backs from 
the unaccustomed packs, light though they were. 
By night they had covered twenty-five miles and 
camped within sight of the lights of Red Wing. 
Scott was delighted with the active part he was 
already able to take in the preparations for the 
night. The wind blowing steadily in their faces 
all day had made them very sleepy. Within an 
hour after they had finished their supper they were 
all asleep in their blankets. 

Saturday morning they felt better than ever — 
for the second day of a walking trip is always the 
hardest — and started out in splendid spirits, 
n 3 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Entering Red Wing just as the grocery stores were 
opening they tarried only long enough to replenish 
their food supply. The boys were jealous of every 
minute they had to spend in town. The cliffs were 
on the west bank of the river now and they looked 
far out across the broad bottom lands of the Wis- 
consin shore to the hills in the distance. Later in 
the day they came to Lake Pepin and enjoyed the 
change of scenery. Scott explained the geological 
significance of the great lake in the course of the 
Father of Waters and it took on a new interest 
to them. 

In the evening they were well within reach of 
Wabasha and knew that they could “ take it easy ” 
the next day. They lounged around the fire in 
luxurious ease for several hours spinning yarns 
before they piled the fire with green wood for the 
night and turned in. 

Early morning found them tramping gaily along 
the river bank, their packs lightened of nearly all 
the provisions and their minds happy in the free- 
dom of movement which came with the third day 
of the walking trip. They felt primed for any 
adventure and it was not long till they had one 
which furnished them with more excitement than 
they had bargained for. 

1 14 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

They had stopped to throw stones at a bottle 
which was bobbing down the current when Green- 
leaf, who had spent one spring on the “ drive ” 
(floating the winter cut of logs to the mill), dis- 
covered a couple of logs hung on the shore near 
them. He had learned after many a ducking, to 
ride a log in the water, and seizing a pole lying on 
the shore, succeeded in shoving off the log into 
deep water and jumping on it. It was a dangerous 
proceeding for without the long spikes, or driving 
calks, in the shoes a log is very hard to handle, 
especially when it has been hung up along the shore 
for a long time and become coated with a layer of 
mud. But Greenleaf had had plenty of training 
in this business and with the aid of the long pole 
rode the log down the swift current as steadily as 
though it were a mud scow. The others kept pace 
with him along the shore cheering vociferously. 
At last Greenleaf tired of the fun and yielded to 
the entreaties of the others to let them try it. 

Ormand had ridden logs a little the summer 
before while his class was at Itasca Park and the 
ease with which Greenleaf rode that particular log 
piqued him into a desire to show his skill. He 
knew it was a ticklish undertaking and one not 
likely to add much to his credit but nerve was not 
ii5 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


among the things he lacked and he was willing to 
take the chance. When Greenleaf jumped ashore 
Ormand grasped the pole boldly and sprang onto 
the log with apparent confidence. He landed 
squarely on the center of the log, which, propelled 
by his momentum, glided smoothly out into the 
stream. His success astonished him more than it 
did the others who did not know how little ex- 
perience he had had. Had the log been straight 
and had fate not doomed it to strike a snag in the 
river Ormand might have landed successfully with 
a brilliant reputation as a riverman. But it was 
decreed otherwise. 

As soon as the log floated out of the eddies near 
the shore it was caught by the current and turned 
down stream, but it was still working out toward 
the center of the river. Ormand did not like this 
for he knew that his success so far was due almost 
entirely to luck, and he did not want to tempt 
providence too far. He began paddling with the 
pole in an attempt to work the log back toward the 
shore. He was making a little progress but his 
work with the pole had a tendency to make the log 
turn slowly over in the water. He moved cau- 
tiously to keep on top and was a little surprised 
when the log stopped twisting as though one side 
116 



By night they had camped within sight of the lights of 

Red Wing. 






SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


of it were weighted. The other boys on the shore 
were cheering and keeping pace with the log, each 
eager for his turn to come. Just as Ormand was 
beginning to have hopes of making a graceful land- 
ing the center of the log touched a snag which was 
fast to the bottom of the river. The log twisted 
slowly a few inches in the same direction as before 
and then suddenly whirled over like a thing be- 
witched. Ormand was not looking for the sudden 
change of speed. His feet were jerked from under 
him and he fell backwards into the river. A shout 
of laughter arose from the boys on the shore for 
they knew Ormand was a good swimmer and con- 
sidered it a huge joke to see him ducked. 

Scott alone had noticed that Ormand’s head had 
seemed to strike the log as he fell and when he 
did not see him come up immediately he dived 
into the river without hesitation much to the sur- 
prise of the others. Scott was a splendid swimmer 
and even encumbered with his heavy shoes and his 
clothes he covered the fifty feet between the log 
and the shore in a few powerful strokes. 

“ Have you seen him? ” he called to the boys on 
the shore. 

“ No,” yelled Morgan, now thoroughly scared, 
“ he has not come up yet.” 

ii 7 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Scott dived beside the snag and came up almost 
immediately with Ormand grasped firmly by the 
collar. He swam straight for the shore with his 
burden. 

Greenleaf’s experience on the drive helped him 
now. “ You help them out,” he called to Morgan, 
“ while I build a fire.” He dashed back to the 
timber at the edge of the grass swamp and col- 
lected some wood. 

In spite of Scott’s best efforts the current carried 
him quite a way down the stream. It was hard 
work and he was glad when Morgan relieved him 
by grasping the unconscious Ormand and, dragging 
him out on solid ground, lent him a helping hand. 
Together they carried the limp body to the fire. 

Greenleaf, who had seen several such cases on 
the river, immediately took charge. “ First we 
must get the water out of him,” he said, and turn- 
ing Ormand on his face he grasped him around the 
waist and raised his body. 

“ Pull his tongue out, Scotty,” he said. 

It was not easily done but Scott finally succeeded 
with the aid of his pocket handkerchief. By gently 
shaking Ormand, Greenleaf succeeded in getting 
most of the water out of his lungs. 

“ Now turn him on his back,” he said, “ and 
118 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


we’ll start him breathing.” The boys obeyed fever- 
ishly. Greenleaf then placed a foot on either side 
of the inert body and grasping a wrist in either 
hand raised the arms slowly to a perpendicular 
position and then lowering them onto the chest by 
flexing the elbows pressed them down firmly. He 
repeated this motion slowly and regularly while the 
others obeyed his directions to take off Ormand’s 
shoes and rub his feet. Five minutes passed in this 
way — it seemed hours to the anxious boys — and 
still there was no sign of life. 

“ Fellows,” Morgan sobbed imploringly, “ he 
can’t be dead, can he?” 

Before anyone could answer the question a little 
shiver passed through Ormand and he heaved a 
gasping sigh. Morgan and Scott were so delighted 
that they wanted to throw themselves on him. 

“ Get out of the way,” Greenleaf commanded 
sternly, “and heat up a couple of those blankets 
I put there by the fire.” 

Both of them grabbed the blankets, eager to be 
of some help. 

Ormand looked around in a dazed way and 
groaned, “ What’s the matter with my chest, 
Greeny ? ” he asked feebly ; “ it feels as though 
somebody was sticking a knife in me.” 

1 19 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ You’re all right,” Greenleaf said cheerfully, 
“ but you had a pretty narrow squeak. Be quiet 
now while we wrap you in these hot blankets.” 

Together they rolled Ormand in the hot blankets 
and Greenleaf fed him spoonfuls of hot tea that he 
had kept from lunch in his canteen. 

For a while it did not seem as though Ormand 
realized what had happened to him, but after a while 
he raised his hand slowly to the back of his head 
and a light broke over his face. 

“ Now I remember,” he said. “ I fell off that log 
and broke my head on the way.” 

“ Yes,” Greenleaf said, feeling the bump gently, 
“ you cracked it on the way, all right, but you 
cracked it a good deal harder on the log.” 

The reaction from the strain they had all been 
suffering brought a laugh out of all proportion to 
the joke. 

“ I can’t see what threw me so quick,” Ormand 
said ; “ it was turning so slowly that I thought I 
could control it.” 

“ Didn’t you know she was crooked ? ” Green- 
leaf asked in astonishment. 

“ No,” Ormand said, “ I did not notice it.” 

“ Well,” Greenleaf exclaimed, “ you sailed out 
there into the stream so well that I thought you 
120 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


were an old hand or I would have told you. She 
was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg and floated 
pretty solidly belly down. When you started 
paddling it turned the bowed part way up and she 
stayed that way till she struck that snag. That 
forced the bow clear over and she went down the 
other side with a whoop. Those crooked ones are 
the deuce to ride ; even the old hands seldom tackle 
them.” 

“ I don’t know much about it,” Ormand con- 
fessed, “ but you did it so well, Greeny, that I 
wanted to show off. It would probably have fixed 
me if it had not been for you fellows. Well, I feel 
all right now,” and he tried to get up. 

“ No you don’t,” Greenleaf said determinedly, 
pushing him back into the blankets, “ you were 
pretty nearly drowned, and unless you are careful 
you’ll have pneumonia, and you must not leave 
those blankets till you are plumb dry.” 

“ Was I really that near it?” Ormand shivered. 

“ Seemed to me you were unconscious about an 
hour,” Scott said. 

“ Scotty was the only one who had sense enough 
to know that you were hurt,” Morgan said. “ He 
dived right in as soon as you went overboard while 
the rest of us were laughing our heads off.” 

121 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

Ormand looked his thanks to Scott and shivered 
again to think how near to death he had been. 

In about three hours all the clothes were dried 
out and Greenleaf consented to let his patient move 
slowly with two assistants. They made their way 
to Reeds Landing, which was close by, and took 
the train back to the city. Their pleasure trip had 
narrowly escaped a very tragic ending, but even 
Ormand, after a few days, declared it had been a 
grand success. 


CHAPTER IX 


O NCE more settled into the routine of col- 
lege work the time passed rapidly. Scott 
began to wonder what he would do with 
himself during the Christmas vacation which was 
now close at hand. He had for some time imag- 
ined that some of the fellows who lived near there 
would take pity on him, a stranger from a distant 
land, and invite him to spend the holidays with 
them. He knew he could rely on that at home. 
But the time was now close at hand and no such 
invitation had materialized. The reason for it, 
when he found it out, astonished him more than 
ever. He found that none of them had any idea 
of spending that time loafing at home. The senior 
class was going to the lumber woods the day after 
Christmas, and all the others, rich and poor alike, 
were going to work at some job or other. 

The thought seemed ridiculous at first, but as 
he noticed the self-reliance and independence of the 
men around liim and recognized their ability to 
care for themselves anywhere, at any time, it began 
to look more reasonable; instead of looking down 
123 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


on them for their eagerness to earn money he began 
to admire them for their dignity. It occurred to 
him that it would be a novel experience to try a 
job for a while himself. He was ashamed to think 
how ignorant he was of such things and how help- 
less he should be if he were really suddenly thrown 
on his own resources where he would have to find 
a job for himself. Any of his classmates could 
find a dozen jobs while he was trying to think where 
to look for one. He was about decided to try his 
ability to support himself, when this problem, like 
most of the practical problems which had con- 
fronted him since he left home, was settled for him 
by his roommate. 

That young gentleman sauntered into the room 
one afternoon about three days before the holidays 
began and seemed to be in a particularly cheerful 
mood. With considerable show he pulled a strip 
of paper from his pocket, stretched himself lux- 
uriously in his chair with his feet protruding from 
under the opposite edge of the table and cleared his 
throat loudly. “ Now, young man,” he began, in 
as deep a voice as he could command, “ what do 
you intend to do this Christmas vacation? Are 
you going to work for an honest living or loaf and 
grow fat ignominiously ? ” 

124 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Well,” Scott responded, falling in with his 
humor, “ I was going to ask your advice about 
that, sir.” 

“ Very good. Then my advice to you is that 
you work. If you loaf you will have to loaf alone, 
which will soon become more tiresome than work- 
ing, unless you want to fall back on your old 
friends, the millionaires, which would be degrad- 
ing. Work during the holidays and buy a canoe 
for Itasca with the earnings. How’s that?” 

“ Fine,” Scott exclaimed. “ Do you think I 
could earn enough for that? I am pretty green, 
you know.” 

“ Never mind about your color,” Greenleaf as- 
sured him ; “ most of the men who work extra for 
the holidays are more or less of that shade. You 
won’t be noticed. That point settled, now let’s see 
what kind of a job I can give you. I have been 
looking into the matter a little, and have a list of 
vacancies here from which we can choose something 
agreeable.” 

Scott was very curious to see what the nature of 
the jobs would be. In his own mind he had pic- 
tured such positions as temporary clerkships in a 
bookstore, a bank, or wholesale house; private sec- 
retary to a railroad president, or some kind of 

125 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


investigational work for some ambitious professor. 
There his imagination had failed him. 

“ First,” Greenleaf continued, eying his list, 
“ there is an extra salesman wanted at the Pa- 
ladium.” 

Scott gasped audibly. 

“ That,” Greenleaf said critically, doing the 
choosing for both of them, “ we’ll not consider, be- 
cause they pay only a dollar and a half per day 
and keep you standing up half the night. 

“ Ne£t there is the job of carrying extras for the 
postman. That is no good because they do not 
pay any more than the other and it is likely to run 
out before the holidays are over. Cold job, too. 

“ Then there is a billing job in the express office. 
That is some fun and they pay two-fifty, but there 
is only one opening there and it is inside work. 

“ Next, writing tracers in the freight office, 
two-fifty, but a dog’s life and too much brain work. 

“ Next. Working on the sewer gang. Two 
dollars but too many 4 hunyacks ’ to work with. 
Too hard work any way when you are not in train- 
ing for it. 

“ Next. Work here at the Station at fifteen 
cents per hour. See too much of the place now. 
I want a change of view for my holiday. 

126 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“Last. Trucking in the transfer shed at twenty 
cents. That looks to me like the best shot. Out- 
side work, plenty of exercise, a chance to work 
extra if you want to, and we can both work to- 
gether. How does that strike you ? ” 

Between the character of the jobs, so different 
from what he had imagined, and the marvel of 
wondering how Greenleaf ever got in touch with 
so many different lines of work, Scott was too 
astonished to give an immediate answer. 

“ Not much variety in the winter time,” Green- 
leaf apologized. “ Oh, here’s another one. Driv- 
ing an extra delivery wagon for the Kings’ Palace. 
Two-fifty, but that’s probably gone by this time. 
Mean job, anyway, especially in the winter, and 
too long hours. No, I’ll go down and telephone 
the transfer shed to hold two jobs. Are you 
game ? ” 

“ Sure,” Scott answered faintly, and Greenleaf 
popped out on his errand. While he was gone 
Scott spent his time in wondering what kind of a 
job he had gotten into, for he had never heard any- 
thing about a transfer shed, and had no idea what 
Greenleaf had meant. Before he had been able to 
figure out any satisfactory solution Greenleaf 
returned. 


127 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ It’s all right,” he cried ; “ they said they’d save 
us two trucks, and said we could come down Fri- 
day morning at 7 a. m. I tell you we’ll get some 
lively work there.” 

Scott, who was ashamed to confess his ignor- 
ance, kept a discreet silence except to confirm any 
of Greenleaf’s statements which seemed to need 
confirmation. He turned the matter over con- 
tinually in his own mind, but having nothing to 
work on never came to any conclusion. 

At last the vacation began and the two boys pre- 
sented themselves, or rather Greenleaf presented 
them both to the foreman at the shed. They were 
assigned to a westbound gang and directed to study 
the signs on the platform till it was time to begin 
work. 

The transfer shed was located in an enormous 
freight yard amidst a network of forty or fifty 
tracks. The shed itself consisted of a large ware- 
house with offices on the second floor and, ex- 
tending from either end of it, a covered platform 
some twenty feet wide and about a hundred yards 
long. Its floor was of heavy planking, the splint- 
ered condition of which seemed to indicate heavy 
traffic of some kind. It was on a level with the 
floors of the box cars which were standing four 
128 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


rows deep on either side of it. Iron skids were 
laid from the platform to the car-sills, forming a 
gang plank. 

Stuck in the posts nearest the gang planks on 
one side of the platform were four tin signs bearing 
the names of the cities in the West, or such mystic 
signs as ist Div. Way,” " Valley Way,” “East 
Local,” etc. Scott noticed that all the cars on that 
side were empty, while those on the opposite side 
of the platform seemed to be loaded to the roof 
with every conceivable kind of freight. He had 
not yet figured out the significance of all this but 
he studied hard and soon had a pretty good idea of 
their general location on the platform. He had 
also mastered the fact that when he found there 
were four signs connected with each skid, that the 
top sign referred to the car on the first track, the 
lowest one to the fourth, etc. 

Just then there was a great rumbling noise in the 
direction of the warehouse and a swarm of men, 
each pushing a two-wheel truck, burst out onto the 
platform and assembled in little knots around the 
doorways of the loaded cars. One man with a 
tally board in his hand stepped out of a car some 
distance down the platform and beckoned to 
them. 


129 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ You belong to five,” he shouted. They nodded 
assent. 

“ Get two trucks out of the warehouse, and get 
a move on you,” he growled, as he turned again to 
the gang of men who were loosening the tangle of 
freight in the doorway of the car. The tone of 
voice rather galled Scott, but he had chosen his job 
and knew that he must accept its conditions. Some 
of the trucks in the warehouse were pretty badly 
battered up, but the boys soon found two with 
smooth handles and easy running wheels. When 
they came out the work had started in earnest, and 
men were dodging in and out of the cars, some with 
loads, some with empty trucks. All seemed to be 
in a tremendous hurry. 

As they approached the car where gang five was 
working the man with the board asked them if they 
were old hands. They said that they were not 
and asked what they should do. 

“ Take things where I tell you and keep on the 
jump. Hang the ticket I give you on the nail to 
the left of the door where you leave the stuff, and 
be sure it's the right car. Those tickets are col- 
lected from time to time — Fargo [he yelled at 
a passing truckman, and handed him a small slip 
of paper] — and if you’ve left anything wrong you’ll 
130 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


be stuck for the freight. You’re six,” he said to 
Greenleaf, “ and you’re seven,” to Scott. 

Scott took his place in the line and soon found 
his truck loaded with small boxes piled mountain 
high. 

“ Fifteen for Moorehead,” the loader called. 

“ Right,” came the echo from the check clerk, 
the man with the board. He was seated beside the 
car door, and as Scott passed him screamed 
“ Moorehead car,” and shoved a slip into his out- 
stretched hand. 

Scott found that the management of a two- 
wheeled truck was a good deal more difficult prob- 
lem than he had ever imagined it to be. If he let 
the handles get an inch too low the burden became 
almost beyond his strength and twice he raised 
them so high that he was lifted bodily from the 
ground in spite of his violent efforts to stay down. 
It was a question of balance, and some of the men 
around him seemed to have mastered it perfectly. 
Some walked steadily and easily along with a load 
that would have filled a horse-cart, others tore past 
with a barrel or large box not only perfectly 
balanced but carrying them along with one foot on 
the axle of the truck and their bodies suspended 
from the truck handles by the armpits. The trucks 

131 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

seemed to shoot here and there, even almost at right 
angles into a car door, without any effort on the 
part of the truckman or without his so much as 
touching his foot to the floor. Every time Scott’s 
truck ran over a chip or struck the edge of a skid, 
his handles showed an almost uncontrollable tend- 
ency to throw him in the air, and several times he 
narrowly escaped spilling his load in that way. 
When he finally reached the Moorehead car safely 
a storeman met him and showed him where to dump 
his load. He stuck his slip on the nail with the 
others and ran back to the car. He found that by 
continually running with his empty truck he could 
just about make up for his slowness on the out- 
bound trip, and maintain his turn in the gang. It 
was a disgrace to lose a turn. 

Greenleaf had done a little trucking in the ware- 
houses around Duluth and in half an hour was 
racing with the best of them, and was on joking 
terms with every man in the gang, except the gruff 
check clerk, who had been raised to that position 
temporarily, and was afraid to joke for fear of 
losing his dignity. 

It was marvelous to see the way these men could 
handle loads of any weight and any shape on those 
little two-wheeled trucks. Nothing seemed to be 
132 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


too heavy, nothing too cumbersome to be balanced 
on a truck and wheeled away by one insignificant 
man. Hogsheads of tobacco weighing twenty-six 
hundred pounds were wrestled onto a truck by five 
or six husky men, and, once on securely, were 
trotted out unassisted by one consumptive looking 
Austrian. 

At last Scott thought they were stuck on a crate 
of glass some ten feet long, four feet high and six 
inches thick which stood on edge against the wall 
and seemed too heavy to be moved by human force, 
but, he soon found, to his own humiliation, that he 
was mistaken. The loader, or caller, broke up with 
his steel freight-hook the cleats which held it, sized 
up the situation and called to Scott : “ Break that 

out of there.” 

Scott knew what that meant from watching the 
others. He stepped forward and with his foot on 
the axle of the truck drove the sharp blade deep 
under the edge of the crate. He then threw all 
his weight on the handles in an attempt to raise 
the load on the blade. The crate bobbed up a little 
but dropped back with a bump and jerked Scott 
violently up in the air like a cork. He tried three 
times with all his might but never got the box more 
than an inch from the floor. 


133 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


At this point the caller interfered in a most 
humiliating manner. 

“ Better put some bricks in your pocket, boy,” 
he jeered. “ Get out of the way and let a man get 
hold of that truck.” 

That was a pretty hard thing to bear quietly 
from a man twenty pounds his inferior in weight, 
but Scott thought he would soon be vindicated be- 
cause he did not believe that any man could budge 
that crate. 

The caller drove his hook into the side of the car 
by way of hanging it up, grasped the handles of the 
truck and with a few quick jerks moved the crate 
out a foot or more from the wall. He then blocked 
the wheels with a chip of wood, placed his foot 
carefully on the axle, and grasping the handles 
tightly threw himself far forward over the crate. 
For one second he poised there and then threw 
himself violently backward with every ounce of 
impetus his muscles could summon to his aid. The 
handles went down within two feet of the floor 
and there seemed to hang in the balance. It was 
against the ethics of the shed to help him and all 
the men watched him struggle slowly and labor- 
iously up between the handles at the same time 
keeping them down. With one final wriggle he 
134 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

gained the ascendancy and forced the handles to 
the floor. 

“ Here, Ole,” he called, “ run your truck under 
there and get her balanced.” 

Ole placed his truck, two men helped the caller 
let his handles slowly up and the great crate bal- 
anced serenely on the other truck. 

“ Here’s your truck, kid.” Then seeing the 
chagrined look on Scott’s face, “ You’ll get on to 
it some day; it takes practice.” 

Scott’s boxing training and endurance stood him 
in good stead. He was able to put in three hours 
of extra work even the first night. Later on as he 
learned the tricks of the trade the work became 
easier, and he began to enjoy it. There were all 
classes of men and all nationalities represented in 
the ten gangs at the shed, Swedes, Norwegians, 
Austrians, Finns, Poles and one gang of real 
Southern negroes. It was a problem worth while 
to study the characters of these different races; to 
compare the slow sullen plod of the Scandinavian 
with the carefree cheerfulness of the negroes, to 
see the contempt of the Irish foreman for all the 
races of slower wit. It was a liberal education in 
itself. 

He soon learned the workings of the shed and 
135 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

became interested in its methods. The cars rolled 
in there from the Eastern cities loaded with all 
kinds of merchandise for all the points of the 
northwest. The waybills for these cars were sent 
to the office in the second story of the warehouse 
where the clerks abstracted them, and wrote out 
on large sheets of paper the names of consignor, 
and consignee, and descriptions of the consign- 
ments. These abstract sheets were then taken by 
the foreman as fast as the cars came in and placed 
on the clips on the platform. Here the check clerks 
took them in charge. 

A gang usually consisted of a check clerk, a 
caller and five truckmen. The caller read the direc- 
tions on the freight and loaded it on the trucks, 
always selecting for any one load boxes which went 
into the same car. The check clerk checked them 
off on his abstract and told the truckman where 
to take it. It was the duty of the check clerk to 
know every point in the territory and how to reach 
it. 

Scott had started the work with the idea that 
any educated man had an advantage over any other 
man not similarly educated, and could excel him 
at his own work. One day’s experience on the 
truck handles had very effectually shown him his 
136 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


mistake. He began to realize that a man who had 
spent several years rolling a truck was quite as 
much of an expert in his line as a doctor was in 
his, and that no man could tell him much about it. 
It was depressing at first, but as he became more 
expert himself he began to find that he could outdo 
these men in many ways on account of his better 
head work. He soon began to enjoy the work in 
the capacity of a master workman. 

All this was extremely interesting to Scott and 
he felt that he was acquiring invaluable experience. 
Christmas passed almost unnoticed save that Scott's 
box from home furnished them many a grateful 
lunch when they returned to their rooms at night 
tired but happy in thrashing over the day's doings. 

But that was not all. There was plenty of fun 
and humor at the shed as well as elsewhere. One 
afternoon Scott thought he noticed some freight in 
the Willmar car which did not belong there. It 
was the mistake of the check clerk or the caller. 
No one liked the check clerk, but the caller was 
popular, and Scott decided to tell him about it. 

“ Charlie," he said when he returned to the car, 
“ I think you called some of that stuff wrong. I 
saw some of your stuff up there in the Willmar 
that I did not think belonged there." 

137 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Charlie was master of a rough-edged sarcasm 
and he spared no one. Work was a little slack and 
he settled down to rub it into Scott. 

“ You think I made a mistake. You think it 
don’t belong there. What right have you got to 
think? Don’t you know that there is a man up- 
stairs who is paid eighteen hundred dollars a year 
just to sit at his desk and think? He does all the 
thinking for this place. You just flap your ears 
like a little jack-ass and push that truck.” 

The sally was met by howls of laughter and Scott 
was obliged to join in them. All the rest of that 
day whenever he looked at all pensive Charlie broke 
into his meditations with, “ Say, boy, you been 
thinking any more lately?” 

Another source of amusement which originated 
with the darky crew, but soon spread to the whole 
shed, was the popular method of settling all dis- 
putes and rough houses. No sooner did two men 
start to tussle than some enthusiast in the crowd, 
sometimes one of the combatants if he felt sure 
of victory, would yell, “ Get a board.” That was 
the invariable war cry. There were always plenty 
of people to carry it out and as if by magic a husky 
man would appear with a bed slat. The presence 
of that bed slat reversed the ordinary methods of 

138 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

wrestling completely. It was no longer the object 
to come out on top, for the top man got the full 
benefit of the bed slat laid on with no gentle hand. 
The agonized expression and bodily writhing of 
the victim who saw that descending bed slat out of 
the corner of his eye were the delight of the crowd. 
The man who could stay underneath with the seat 
of his trousers glued fast to the platform was the 
successful combatant in the eyes of all concerned. 
It was not a position easily maintained, for the ex- 
ertions of the other man under the stimulus of the 
bed slat became almost superhuman. 

Scott had been anxious to try his strength at this 
game with some of these strong laborers, but he 
had been slow to make their acquaintance. The 
day before he left the shed he had his opportunity 
thrust upon him. There was a big Swede there, 
the bully of the shed, who was acknowledged to be 
the “ best man ” at the bed slat game. He was 
consequently always looking for trouble and had 
gotten the better of nearly everyone there at some 
time or other. Scott had often wondered what 
his skill could do against this man’s strength. 

The clash came unexpectedly. Scott shot out of 
a car door with his empty truck just in time to 
crash into a truck loaded high with small boxes. 
139 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


The impact dumped the top-heavy load, and fifty 
cobbler outfits were scattered the width of the plat- 
form. Almost before he knew what had happened 
he felt himself raised bodily from the ground and 
the big Swede was bellowing the war cry in his 
very ear. He felt absolutely helpless in that iron 
grasp. Hardly had the echo of the war cry died 
away when there was a swish and the inevitable bed 
slat landed with a crack like a rifle. 

The tears sprang to Scott’s eyes, but all the feel- 
ing of helplessness was gone. With one frantic 
wrench he freed himself from the big Swede’s 
arms. He dodged the next blow of the menacing 
slat, grappled his opponent around the knees and 
brought him to the ground with a crash. He had 
downed his man, but with the wrestler’s instinct, 
and unmindful of the rules of this new game, he 
had fallen on top of his opponent. Crack came the 
relentless slat. There was no time to lose. He 
was free and could have ended the scrap by leaving 
his opponent but that would have been to acknowl- 
edge defeat, which he was not willing to do without 
a fair trial. With one wild dive he secured a 
crotch and body hold on his untrained opponent; 
but the man was too big — he could not turn him 
over. Just then the bed slat descended again with 
140 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

a vicious spat. That gave him the needed strength. 
One agonized heave toppled the big fellow heels 
over head and Scott fell neatly under him. Flat 
on his back with the big Swede pinned helplessly 
above him he listened to the * cracks of the slat 
mingling with the yells of the crowd and smiled as 
he foiled the heavings of the mighty frame with his 
skill. 

A half dozen cracks were enough. The big 
fellow howled for mercy, and Scott arose the hero 
of the shed. The forty-five dollars he earned that 
vacation was the pride of his life, but if he had 
been given his choice he would have preferred to 
repeat that triumphant moment when he lay on 
his back on the platform and listened to the tune 
of that slat. 


CHAPTER X 


O F all the Christmas vacations which Scott 
could remember he recalled none that had 
left him such real sensations of pleasure 
as that three weeks of hard labor in the old transfel 
shed. It formed almost the only theme of con- 
versation between the two boys for the next two 
weeks. A month ago Scott would have laughed 
at the idea of his being able to learn anything at 
such a place, yet hardly a day passed now that he 
did not feel that he had been helped by his ex- 
perience. Moreover, he took a very different 
interest in the laboring men he saw and seemed to 
look at everything from a different point of view. 

He buckled down to his work with a better will 
than he could have done after a period of idleness 
and had the satisfaction of seeing his extra courses 
rapidly coming to a successful close. The mid-year 
examinations came bringing terror to the unpre- 
pared, but Scott took his Saturday afternoon and 
Sunday off as usual, and waded through the ex- 
aminations in the regular routine of his work. He 
142 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


came out of them with flying colors, and found 
himself a full fledged junior with the privilege of 
taking part in all the activities of the class. 

The most important of these class activities at 
this time was the formation of the famous Junior 
Corporation for the management of the camp at 
Itasca. A camp meeting was called at which 
Ormand and Morgan, the officers of the last year’s 
Corporation, explained its organization and work- 
ings. Ormand explained the object of the Cor- 
poration. 

“ You see, fellows, it’s like this. That camp is 
twenty-seven miles from the railroad. There is 
no boarding house within striking distance of the 
place, so somebody has to run the cook shack. If 
an outsider came in to run it he would have to 
charge big money in order to make any profit; if 
the school ran it the fellows would always be 
kicking on the grub; if the fellows run it them- 
selves they can make it cost what they please and 
have nobody but themselves to kick if they don't 
like it. It has always worked out first rate. We 
kept board down to two dollars and eighty cents 
per week last summer, had good grub and enter- 
tained lots of company. 

“ Of course it means some work. The school 


143 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


supplies a good cook shack and all the equipment. 
You will have to elect some good man manager to 
attend to all the business, and another good man 
secretary to keep the books, pay the bills and help 
him out generally. Then the rest of you must back 
them up in everything they do. Hire your own 
cook, buy your provisions wholesale and buy your 
own cows.” 

Morgan then explained the organization of the 
camp crews and the rules of the game as well as 
he could. 

With this information as a guide the new of- 
ficers were quickly elected and the organization 
completed. Merton was elected manager and 
Scott, secretary. Before his experience at the shed 
Scott would have been afraid of this responsibility, 
but he had more confidence in himself now and 
welcomed the experience. 

The next few weeks were indeed full ones for 
the new officers. They levied an assessment of 
twenty-five dollars from each member of the class 
to meet the immediate expenses, held long confer- 
ences with the former officers, making up grocery 
lists and collecting details of information which 
would aid them in handling the various contin- 
gencies which might arise in the course of the sum- 
144 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

mer. They signed a written contract with the 
director of the College defining their duties and 
privileges. They carried on an extensive corre- 
spondence in an effort to locate a suitable cook and 
find two cows which would answer their purpose. 
After holding a protracted meeting with the repre- 
sentative of a wholesale grocery company they 
placed an order for what seemed to them an in- 
exhaustible supply of provisions. 

In the bustle of preparation various lines of pri- 
vate enterprise were brought to light. One man 
had constituted himself a special agent for a certain 
shoe concern and took orders for all styles of boots, 
puttees and moccasins. Another was appointed to 
purchase compasses and all other needed equipment 
of a like nature; while still another canvassed the 
class for sweaters, flannel shirts, mackinaws, and 
riding breeches. Scott added to his official duties 
the selection and purchase of a canoe which he paid 
for with the money he had earned at the shed. It 
was a busy time for everyone and the fever of ex- 
pectant excitement pervaded the entire class. The 
tang of spring was in the air and these young 
savages were yearning for the freedom of the 
woods. 

Two days before the appointed day of departure 
145 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


came the annual banquet of the Forestry Club to 
speed the parting juniors. It was regarded some- 
what as a sacred rite because it was the last meet- 
ing of the year when all the classes could be 
together. By the time the juniors would come 
down from the woods the seniors would be scat- 
tered to the four corners of the country and there 
was no chance of getting them all together again 
after that. It ^as also the time when the embryo 
orators of- the different classes aired their wit in 
after-dinner speeches. Men had been known to 
keep jokes secret for a whole year for the sake of 
springing them publicly at the banquet. 

A committee of the Club had made all the ar- 
rangements. A hungry crowd some forty strong 
assembled at the hotel and, as is customary on all 
such occasions, starved for almost an hour waiting 
for the banquet to be served. It was a very good 
banquet and tasted all the better for the delay — 
maybe that is the reason all banquets are delayed 
— but everyone was more interested in what was 
to come afterward than in the dinner itself. 

The professor of engineering was in the chair as 
toastmaster, the director of the College was present 
and so were all the popular professors. It was 
rather an honor for a faculty member to be invited 
146 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


if he was not a member of the Club — for it was 
an independent organization and invited none out 
of mere politeness. This was pretty generally 
understood and few who were invited failed to 
appear. One or two outsiders who had earned the 
friendship of the Club were also there. 

As the last waiter closed the door behind him 
the toastmaster arose and solemnly proposed that 
they should all sing “ Minnesota.” Every man was 
on his feet in an instant, for it was traditional 
that the “ Foresters had more spirit than all the 
rest of the University put together,” and they never 
neglected to show it at every opportunity. The 
song had the desired effect; it struck fire which 
melted all formality and welded the crowd into one 
homogeneous whole. There were no longer any 
class distinctions ; the faculty were stripped of their 
dignity. The toastmaster grilled everyone un- 
mercifully. The faculty told all the jokes they 
could think of on the students and on each other ; 
the students “ slammed ” the faculty unrestrained. 
Everyone had the best kind of a time. When the 
toastmaster finally resigned his seat it was close to 
eleven o'clock, and there were many under classmen 
among those present who were already looking 
forward to the meeting of the next year. There 
147 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


was more than one senior who went home rather 
sadly thinking that it was the last of its kind for 
him. 

It had been a revelation to Scott. His relations 
with the faculty had been wholly of the classroom, 
and he had formed the students’ usual opinion of 
them as a type. That night he had seen them act 
like human beings and he began to wonder if some 
of them were not almost human after all. 

The fifteenth of April, the day set for the de- 
parture, arrived at last. The train left the Union 
Depot at nine in the morning, and the boys were 
eager to reach the depot. The car stopped and they 
hurried into the station where they found a wild 
and woolly looking group assembled in the corner 
of the waiting room. They could not wait to get 
to the woods and were nearly all attired in true 
lumberjack fashion, only the pallor of their faces 
betraying them. They hailed the new arrivals with 
that exaggerated hilarity that only a crowd of col- 
lege boys can display. And that hilarity instead 
of subsiding grew steadily with the arrival of every 
new addition. They joked each other continually, 
riled the grouchy baggage man almost to madness 
and “ joshed ” every porter who showed himself. 

When the train came in from St. Paul the crowd 
148 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

surged boisterously forward sweeping everyone 
before it. Most of the people recognized the 
joyous buoyancy of youth, and knowing how use- 
less it was to oppose it, yielded good naturedly 
enjoying it by a sort of reflected pleasure, but a 
few resented it wrathfully, thereby making them- 
selves ridiculous. On they rushed across the plat- 
form and took possession of the smoking car. 


CHAPTER XI 


T HAT trip to Park Rapids was a memorable 
one to the boys, as well as to everyone else 
on the train. Most travelers consider it a 
dull and tiresome ride but the boys seemed to find 
a source of never-ending enjoyment in the same- 
ness of the little towns along the road and the long 
stretches of prairie, broken here and there by 
patches of jack pine. The almost unbroken series 
of practical jokes which they played on the train- 
men and on each other made the miles slip pleas- 
antly by for the other passengers. It was all done 
in a good-humored spirit of abandon that angered 
no one. 

The dinner which they devoured at Sauk Center 
amazed some of the invalid ladies who watched 
them, but it was only a vague foreshadowing of 
the meal which they would eat in that same room 
on the downward trip when their appetites had been 
whetted by four months of strenuous work in the 
woods. With a cheer for the town which had fed 
them so well they boarded the little branch train 

150 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


which was to take them to theijr destination and 
resumed their old amusements. At Wadena they 
welcomed wildly a stray member of the class who 
had come across on the N. P. to join them. They 
immediately proceeded to work off on him all the 
gags which had been developed earlier in the day. 

As they neared Park Rapids the spirit of rest- 
lessness pervaded the crowd. No sooner had the 
wheels stopped turning than they boiled out onto 
the platform amidst the crowd of citizens who had 
made their regular daily pilgrimage to see the train 
come in. They lost no time at the station, the bag- 
gage could be taken care of in the morning, but 
swarmed away up the street to the hotel. They 
selected a cheap hotel — for no matter how much 
money a man might have at home it was part of 
the game to keep down the expenses of that trip 
to the minimum. 

Their duffel disposed of, Merton, as manager of 
the corporation, hurried away to interview the 
storekeepers to arrange for a shipment of eatables 
by the stage in the morning and to make an agree- 
ment with them for such emergency supplies as they 
might require through the summer. Scott, with a 
feeling of pride in his new responsibility, searched 
the livery stables for two teams, one to haul the 
I5i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

baggage and another the groceries they had shipped 
up from St. Paul. The others scattered in all 
directions to explore the town, to sound its re- 
sources and locate some amusement for the evening. 
They returned to the hotel for dinner, a little dis- 
appointed, with nothing to report but a moving 
picture show and a bowling alley. 

The whole party was early afoot in the morning 
to take advantage of the 6:30 breakfast, for there 
was a big day’s work ahead of them. The former 
classes had established the precedent of walking to 
and from camp, and no class now dared fall short 
of that standard. A twenty-eight mile walk was 
a big undertaking for men fresh from the class- 
room, but it had to be done to maintain the class 
prestige. The people of the town expected it of 
them and even the stage driver, who had become 
reconciled to the loss of the fares, took a certain 
pride in their independence and recited the exploit 
times without number to the summer boarders who 
later chanced to be his passengers. 

It was found that three of the boys had set out 
the night before to spend the night at the Fairview 
Hotel at Arago, half way out, and complete the 
journey in the morning. Three of the others, in- 
experienced and not yet imbued with the spirit of 

152 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


the thing, waited for the stage. Four of the 
remaining ones took the road immediately after 
breakfast, while Merton and Scott hurried away to 
get the wagons started. By seven-thirty the two 
wagon-loads of duffel and groceries were on the 
road, and the two boys walked gayly on ahead, full 
of the joy of the open. It was also a precedent 
that the w r alkers should reach the camp ahead of 
the stage and they swung to their work with a will. 

The twenty-eight mile walk, such a marvel to 
those who never walk themselves, was uneventful. 
At the Lodge, on the south end of Lake Itasca, 
Scott and Merton overtook the other four walkers^ 
and the six then finished the journey together. 

“ So that is Lake Itasca,” Merton observed 
rather thoughtfully, as they followed the road 
along the hills on the east shore, “the source of 
the Father of Waters. I remember seeing pictures 
of it in my geography.” 

“ Sure thing,” Bill Price answered quickly. “ So 
do I. I recognized it as soon as I saw it.” 

“ Well, this is something like a forest,” said 
Scott, admiring the dense stand of pines stretching 
down the hill to the water’s edge. “ I began to 
think down there below Arago that the whole coun- 
try was just covered with brush.” 

r 53 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ I wonder where the stage is ? ” Merton mused 
looking back over his shoulder, and they quickened 
their pace perceptibly. 

“ No matter now,” Scott answered. “ We could 
outrun him from here if we had to.” 

“ Be easier to pay him to stay behind us,” Bill 
suggested. 

In this way the last three miles passed rapidly 
and a sudden turn in the road brought them in sight 
of the camp not more than two hundred yards 
away. They had heard so much of it from the 
seniors and seen so many pictures of it taken at all 
possible angles that they recognized it at once. 

“ There’s the cookshack up on the hill,” Merton 
shouted, “ and there’s smoke coming out of the 
chimney, too. That looks good to me. I could 
eat a porcupine right now, quills and all.” 

“ There’s the library straight ahead,” said Scott. 
“ I wonder where the other buildings are?” 

“ There’s the barn,” Bill called, “ and here’s the 
foreman’s house right beside us. Gee, doesn’t that 
lake look fine from here? I wish it was warm 
enough for a swim.” 

A shout showed that they had been sighted from 
the camp and they answered with an Indian whoop. 
They piled eagerly down across the campus and 
154 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


were welcomed enthusiastically by their classmates 
who started out the night before and by Professor 
Mertz, who had come up the previous week to get 
the place in shape. 

They all sat down on the library porch and made 
a preliminary survey of the campus. The lake 
shore, not over a hundred feet away, stretched 
north and south; across a quarter-mile of shining 
water the opposite shore, part birch, part swamp, 
part pine. The roof of the boathouse peeped over 
the bank directly in front of them, the big log bunk- 
house loomed up to the north, and hidden in the 
trees to the south were the four small cabins of 
the faculty. It was a beautiful picture even then, 
but nothing to what it would be when the trees were 
in leaf and all the vegetation green. 

“ Looks pretty fine,” Merton said, “ but, what’s 
more important, how do you like the looks of the 
cook ? ” 

“Fine,” came the chorus; “he moved in as 
naturally as though he had always belonged here 
and has a hand-out waiting for you now.” 

“ ’Nough said,” cried Bill, and they all arose as 
one man. “ Let’s go see the cookshack.” 

The cook, who had held despotic sway over many 
a lumber camp, was waiting for them in the door- 
155 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


way and greeted them cheerily. It was hard to 
realize that he had never seen any of them before. 

“ Not much in the way of chuck, yet,” he apol- 
ogized, “ but I got some flour at the store, and 
there’s bread and butter and cheese and the teapot 
is on the stove.” 

The newcomers dropped into the benches with- 
out more ado and ate ravenously. 

“ Looks like five dollars a plate to me,” Morris 
chuckled between bites. “ I could die eating like 
this.” 

“ Chances are pretty good that you will,” Bill 
purred, “you put in more time at that than any- 
thing else.” 

“When’s the grub coming?” the cook asked 
anxiously. 

“ There is enough on the stage for a couple of 
meals,” Merton answered, “ and a good two-horse 
wagon-load will be here a little later.” 

The cook looked immensely relieved, “ Good, 
there ain’t nothing makes me nervous like an empty 
pantry.” 

They had just finished eating when the stage hove 
in sight. It was a good three-quarters of an hour 
behind them. Of course the three boys on the stage 
had to have a “ handout,” so they all ate some more. 

156 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Merton pulled out his list of groceries and con- 
sulted with the cook. “ Jansen, here’s a list of the 
stuff we have coming on the wagon. You’d better 
look it over and see whether we have forgotten any- 
thing. If we have we can send for it tonight and 
have it on the stage tomorrow. There are only 
eggs, and a little butter to get. I want to arrange 
with some of the settlers tomorrow about supplying 
us with those things. Have to have some potatoes, 
too, and we have a couple of cows coming tomor- 
row.’ J 

Jansen looked the list over with approval shining 
in every line of his face. “ Fine,” he exclaimed, 
“ we can live high on that, but you’d better order 
some beans pretty soon and some more ginger. I’m 
strong on beans and ginger bread. You can’t run 
a camp without ’em.” 

“ Come on, fellows,” Price called from the door- 
way, “ let’s go have a look at the bunkhouse. I 
want to select my suite.” 

They all trooped down the hill through the pines 
and across the tennis court towards the bunkhouse. 

“ This tennis court looks good to me,” said Mor- 
ris. “ I expect to put in many a good hour here.” 

“ All right,” Merton answered cheerily. “ We’ll 
appoint you a committee of one to smooth it up, 
157 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


patch up the backstop and mark it out. There’s 
nothing like having work that interests you.” 

“ Gee,” exclaimed Burns, “ those big upper 
porches look cold enough now, but I’ll bet they 
make dandy places to sleep this summer. You can 
lie right in your bunk and watch the moonlight on 
the lake.” 

They filed through the door and stood looking 
admiringly around them. The whole ground floor, 
twenty-four by thirty-six feet, was one big club 
room with a big fireplace opposite the door and 
plenty of windows. The furniture was built of pine 
two by sixes, crude but massive and well suited to 
the log building. In the city the place would have 
looked rough enough, but there in the backwoods 
it looked like a castle and the fellows immediately 
adopted it as such. 

“Isn’t this great?” Scott said. “When we get 
a good big fire whooping up that chimney and our 
library here, it can rain all it pleases.” 

“ Yes,” Bill said, “ and I’ll bet more than one 
mosquito will dull his bill trying to bore through 
those tamarack logs. I’m going to file my claim on 
this big morris chair right now, and I’ll put on those 
gloves there on the wall with any man who wants to 
dispute it.” 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


The crowd wandered upstairs. It was the same 
as the downstairs save that there was no fireplace 
and the only furniture was some twenty steel bunks 
with wire springs. Big double doors on each end 
opened onto twelve-foot screened porches. 

“ Me for the outside, right now,” said Merton, 
proceeding to drag one of the bunks out onto the 
north porch. 

“ Well,” said Scott, “ I’ll join you. It may be a 
little cold at first but we get the pick of the loca- 
tions if we get out now. There’ll be a rush for it 
the first warm night. Better take the west end, the 
sun will not get in on you there so early in the 
morning.” 

“ Long head,” Merton answered, dragging his 
bunk across. “ Get a better view of the lake, too. 
Isn’t that great? There’s the post office up there 
and the * town site ’ the fellows used to laugh 
about. Let’s go see Professor Mertz and find out 
what there is to be done.” 

But they did not have to look for Professor 
Mertz; he was downstairs waiting for them. He 
smiled at their enthusiasm over their new quarters. 

“ Well, fellows,” he began sociably, “ I see that 
you recognize the possibilities of this place for hav- 
ing a good time, and you are not mistaken in it. 
159 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


You’ll have the time of your lives. But I want to 
call your attention to some of the other features. 
You must remember that this is the University and 
everyone will judge the University by what you do 
here. Think every time before you do anything, 
what effect it is going to have on the school. Its 
reputation here depends on you entirely. 

“ There are five boats in the boathouse ; three of 
them are for your use; two of them, the cedar ones, 
are reserved for the faculty. The scow is for gen- 
eral use, but no one runs the engine except Pro- 
fessor Roberts, Mr. Sturgis or myself. The old 
tub of a sail boat you can rig up if you want to. 
It is not much good, but the fellows usually man- 
age to get some fun out of it. Whether you are in 
a boat or swimming, be careful. You may think 
that you are too old for that warning, but two men 
have been drowned in that lake in the past four 
years, and they were both as old as you are. Never 
go swimming alone and never ‘ rough-house ’ in a 
boat. 

“ Next, be careful about fire, both around the 
buildings and the woods. The woods are very dry 
now and a match thrown down carelessly may mean 
a fire which will cost several hundred dollars to put 
out. You will probably have a chance to fight one 
160 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


somewhere before long and then you’ll understand. 
Never throw down a match until it is out completely. 

“ Another thing. Don’t peel every birch tree you 
see. It will be a big temptation at first to get bark 
for postal cards, etc., but don’t peel the trees along 
the roads or trails. It destroys the looks of the 
woods and is disgusting to woodsmen. When you 
want some bark find a tree in some out-of-the-way 
place — there are thousands of them — chop it 
down and peel the whole of it. This is a park, you 
know, and we do not want to be accused of vandal- 
ism. 

“ Lastly, remember that you are responsible for 
the camp. We furnish you with a good equipment 
and it is up to you to see that the camp is kept in 
shape, the buildings clean and everything orderly. 
We’ll help you all we can, but remember that it is 
your camp. 

“ I won’t preach to you any longer. You can 
have tomorrow to get things straightened out and 
get your bearings. The next day we’ll have a den- 
drology excursion to catch these trees here before 
the leaves come out. If you want me you’ll find me 
in that third cottage.” 

The professor chatted awhile before he walked 
away to let the boys adjust their own affairs — for 
j6i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


it was the policy of the camp to interfere with them 
no more than was absolutely necessary; it helped 
to develop their independence. On this particular 
occasion chance deprived them of very much choice 
in the matter, for hardly had they started a discus- 
sion of detailed organization than a rattling of 
wheels announced the arrival of the wagons with the 
supplies. 

“ Talk about your quiet places in the backwoods,” 
Morris exclaimed, as he ran out with the rest of the 
crowd, “ there’s something doing every minute. 
You no sooner finish one thing that you have never 
done before than another turns up.” 

“ Yes,” Bill retorted sarcastically, “ always 
something new. You’ll have to unload a wagon 
and then the first thing you know you’ll be eating 
supper.” 

With so many zealous workers the baggage was 
soon unloaded and stowed away in the bunkhouse; 
the provisions were neatly arranged under the cook’s 
directions on the shelves of the little storeroom in 
the back of the cookshack. 

Scarcely had they finished admiring their work 
when a terrific din broke forth on the other side of 
the building, a vibrating, metallic clatter that must 
have startled the deer a mile away. When they 
162 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


tore around the corner to investigate they found the 
cook grinning from ear to ear, belaboring with an 
old ax a four- foot circular saw, which was hung 
from the corner of the building on an iron pipe. 

He stopped, panting. “ There, I’ll ring her like 
that fifteen minutes before mealtime and then just 
three hard taps when the meal is ready.” 

It was certainly an effective gong. It had first 
been used in that neighborhood as an instrument of 
torture, by a crowd of settlers in a charivari party 
for a newly married couple some two miles to the 
north. The distinctness with which it was heard 
on the school ground on that occasion had been 
sufficient proof of its efficiency and it had straight- 
way been appropriated by the students. 

The ravenous boys forgot their lunch of only two 
hours before and did full justice to the supper with 
a will that did the old cook’s heart good. Then as 
the night was pretty cold they adjourned to a roar- 
ing fire in the bunkhouse and soon to a welcome 
bed. 


CHAPTER XII 


A LL the next day the boys were busy as 
badgers making garden, sawing wood for 
the cookshack, fixing up the tennis court 
and putting the camp in shape generally. The 
gangs were well organized for so early in the season 
and did their work quickly. Merton and Scott, 
who had scoured the country to the northward in 
search of eggs and butter reported a supply suffi- 
cient for the first half of the summer at least. They 
also brought back with them two cows which they 
had purchased through correspondence with the 
foreman. Night found them feeling very much at 
home, with much of the preliminary work com- 
pleted. Professor Mertz had kept a friendly eye 
on them all day, showing them better methods in 
their work, running the gasoline engine for the 
woodsaw and helping them out of difficulties at 
every turn, but interfering very little with their 
plans. 

The rest of the week was devoted to their real 
introduction to the forest. At eight o’clock in the 
164 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

morning with their lunches on their belts they set 
out with Professor Mertz, sometimes on foot and 
sometimes in the scow, but always with the assur- 
ance that they w r ould get all the walking they wanted 
before they returned to camp. Occasionally a road 
or trail would take them where they wanted to go, 
but more often they plowed through the untracked 
forest, through densely tangled alder and hazelnut 
brush, across spongy tamarack swamps or grass 
meadows, into the fragrant thickets of balsam sec- 
ond growth or over the open pine ridges, skirting 
the shores of lakes or clambering over piled up 
windfalls. The only rests were when Professor 
Mertz waited for some of the stragglers to come 
up for general consultation on some new species, 
often one with which they had all been familiar in 
the classroom, but failed to recognize in its new 
surroundings. Hour by hour these strangers be- 
came less frequent and they greeted old friends 
enthusiastically. It was fascinating work, and led 
them on mile after mile almost without realizing 
how far they were going till they found themselves 
at four in the afternoon some five or six miles from 
home, with a race for supper ahead of them. Most 
of them were well used to walking but they had 
done the greater part of it on roads or pavements, 

165 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and they found this cross country work a very dif- 
ferent thing. It was only pride and nerve which 
kept them up with the long strides of the professor 
as they “ hiked ” back to camp; they all admitted be- 
ing tired. 

When Scott thought that the park was little more 
than twenty thousand acres in extent, and that all 
their hikes had covered but a very small portion of 
it he began to realize what a really princely estate 
he would have if he could only fill those condi- 
tions. 

Among the other things that they had seen on 
their trips, especially when they were on the lake, 
were the numerous columns of smoke, thin gray 
lines in the early morning expanding toward mid- 
day into great black storm clouds which fanned out 
over the whole sky and cast a gloom over every- 
thing. To the inexperienced boys the columns 
seemed always to be in exactly the same location, 
but the woodsmen could see them advancing, re- 
treating, sidestepping, like trained fighters, and, 
knowing the country as they did, could explain al- 
most every movement. They watched the fires un- 
ceasingly, for it was so dry that only a high wind 
from the right direction was needed to bring any 
one of them down on the park with a terrific sweep 
1 66 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


that would be hard to stop. The older men prayed 
for rain to relieve the unheard of drought and put 
a stop to the fires, but the boys longed for a chance 
to try themselves against those great smoke-breath- 
ing monsters. 

One evening when they had returned late from 
a long tramp, Scott was thoughtfully watching a 
great black formless mass standing out against the 
western twilight and thinking regretfully that it 
must be ten miles away. There was no wind and 
the great wavering column boiled upward till it 
seemed lost in space. 

“ Fire, fire, everywhere,” he murmured, “ and 
not a spark to fight.” 

“ Yes,” said Morris, “ and from the way the fel- 
lows talked last year you’d think that they did noth- 
ing else but fight fire.” 

The foreman, who was passing by the porch, heard 
the remark and stopped, leaning up against the 
screen. 

“ Don't you worry yourselves about not getting 
any fire-fighting experience,” he said. “ Two of 
the patrolmen 'phoned in this afternoon that the 
fires in the north and west were bad ones. If the 
wind comes up from those directions they’ll need 
all the men they can get.” 

167 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Do you think there is any chance of a wind? ” 
Merton asked, eying the sky inquiringly. 

"‘If we don’t have one in the next three or four 
days,” the foreman answered, “ it will be the first 
chance it ever missed.” 

“ Three or four days,” Scott grumbled in dis- 
gust ; “ the fires may all be out by that time.” 

“ Don’t you fool yourself,” the foreman answered 
him. “ Those fires are not in the habit of going 
out of themselves even in three or four weeks. 
Nothing short of a week’s rain or an army can 
put them out now.” 

“ I’ll bet if it does blow it will be from the south,” 
Bill grunted ; “ there’s a conspiracy to do us out of 
part of our rightful education.” 

As the foreman moved off chuckling, he called 
back over his shoulder : 

“ The wagons are all packed ready to start, and 
I’ll bet pop for the crowd that we’re on the fireline 
somewhere in thirty-six hours.” 

“Done,” yelled a half-dozen voices at once. 

“ Better sleep while you can,” the voice called 
back, “you won’t get much at the fire. Good 
night.” 

“ Good night.” 

“ Sort of a poor bet,” Bill mused, “ because he is 
1 68 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


the man who can order us out; but I’m willing to 
pay up all right for the chance, if we have to go ten 
miles to find the fire.” 

“ Well,” Morris yawned, “ I guess he’s right 
about the sleep, anyway, and I’m going to turn in.” 

Everyone else seemed to be of the same opinion 
and they filed off to bed. In half an hour the 
chorus of snores rolling up from the upper porches 
bore witness to the fatigues of the day’s hike and 
complete loss of interest in the fire situation. The 
stillness of the forest — really made up of the count- 
less small noises of the insects, birds, and roaming 
night-walkers of the animal world — settled over 
everything. Not a leaf stirred. Even the columns 
of black smoke which rolled up incessantly on the 
horizon thinned out to a wavering gray streak as 
the dampness of the night cooled the ferocity of the 
fires. 

In spite of the stillness and the favorable pros^ 
pects of a peaceful night a faint light still glowed 
in the office and the foreman, ready dressed, slept 
on a couch beside the telephone. About midnight 
the lonely call of a timber wolf brought an answer- 
ing hoot from an old owl in a neighboring swamp, 
and as though in recognition of these gruesome 
sounds of life a shiver passed through the leaves of 
169 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

the aspen trees. It must have penetrated to the 
marrow of their limbs for they continued to shiver 
more and more violently long after the reverberat- 
ing echoes of the night calls had died away. Here 
and there little ripples appeared on the surface of 
the glassy lake. A dull roar to the southward, like 
the groan of a mighty monster would have caused 
the city man to murmur “ Thunder/’ and roll over 
for another nap, but to the foreman who sat up 
wide-eyed in his couch at the first rumble, it spoke 
of the winds in the pines and no gentle breeze at 
that. 

“ If there are any fires in the south, Jones will 
have his hands full. And so will we,” he added, 
" if this wind keeps up and they don’t get her blocked 
before morning. Well, I’m glad that it’s not from 
the north or west.” And with that, after a long 
look out of the window behind him he went back to 
sleep. 

Already those menacing columns of smoke were 
answering to the call of the wind. They no longer 
wandered hesitatingly upward in hazy fashion, but 
bent sharply to the northward, stretchiiig their cov- 
etous arms over the doomed forest. The smoke 
rapidly increased in volume and blackened the 
whole sky, while here and there a dull red glowed 
170 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


fretfully on the horizon. The dew was keeping 
down the flames, but the wind was fanning the glow- 
ing coals to a fury which needed only the help of 
the drying morning sun to cause them to leap away 
like a cyclone over the whole ill-fated woods. Under 
ordinary conditions such a wind storm could only 
precede a rainstorm, but the drought had lasted so 
long that every particle of moisture seemed to have 
dried from the atmosphere and the dry wind seemed 
only to evaporate the dew and make the ground 
more dry. 

Scarcely had the foreman picked up the lost 
thread of his dream when the telephone bell rang 
long and violently. He was on his feet in an in- 
stant. 

“ Hello.” 

“ Yes — Oh, hello, Long.” 

There was a long pause as he listened. “ Coming 
around east of Brown’s, is she? That’s bad, isn’t 
it? — Can we head her north of Mantrap? — 
Think we can. Well, I have the wagon here all 
loaded and we will leave here in half an hour with 
fifteen men. We ought to be down there in two 
hours. You scout her out till we come. 

“ Yes, I'll bring ’em, good-bye.” 

He hung up the receiver and slipped across the 
171 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


hall to call his wife. “ Come, Mamma, the fire is 
coming in at the southeast corner and we’ll have to 
go down. You call the men and get the grub ready 
while I go call the boys.” 

His wife was too accustomed to this sort of thing 
to be surprised; in fact, she had been prepared for 
it for several days. Sturgis, leaving the house as 
she started to call the men, hurried over to notify 
the boys and Professor Mertz, who inquired the 
particulars and promised to join them at once. 

A few minutes later a prolonged, “ Tur-r-r-r-rn 
out ” almost raised the boys from their beds. A 
medley of answers came from all parts of the upper 
regions of the bunkhouse : “ Aye-aye, sir,” 
‘‘What’s up?” “Who is it?” “What hap- 
pened?” “Is it a fire?” 

“ Yes, it’s a fire at the southeast corner of the 
park, and I want every man I can get. The wagon 
will leave in fifteen minutes. Some of you go up to 
the cookshack and bring the grub you find there 
down to the barn.” 

He knew from the cries of joy and the general 
bustle that there would be no delay on their ac- 
count. He grinned to think what a different recep- 
tion his call for the next fire would meet. He hur- 
ried away to the cookshack where he found Mike, 
172 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

awakened by the shouts, already up and waiting 
for him. 

“ Where is she ? ” Mike asked cheerfully. 

“ Southeast corner,” Sturgis answered briefly, 
“ and the whole outfit will have to go. We'd bet- 
ter take all the bread and cooked stuff you have on 
hand and they’ll probably want some more by to- 
morrow night. We’re liable to be down there some 
time if this wind keeps up.” 

“ Aye-aye, it’s a bad one,” Mike assented, with 
a glance at the clear sky, “ and no sign of rain.” 

“No,” Sturgis answered dolefully; “looks as 
though it had forgotten how. Some of the boys 
will come up for that stuff,” he added as he moved 
away. 

The boys were so eager for the “ fun ” — as they 
called it — that they lost no time in arranging 
niceties of dress. Some of them were already 
scrambling up the hill towards the cookshack. 

“ This is some wind,” Scott grunted, as he panted 
up to the cookshack door. I wonder what they can 
do with a fire on a night like this? Hello, Mike, 
when did you get up ? ” 

“ I got up with the wind,” Mike answered. “ You 
can’t fight fire without grub, so I knew they would 
be after me. There’s the stuff on the floor.” 

173 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ We may come back sometime, Mike,” Bill said 
reproachfully, looking at the small mountain of pro- 
visions. 

“ Yes,” Mike said serenely, “ some of you will be 
back here tomorrow afternoon for more grub. I 
fought forest fires before you were born, and I 
know how much good victuals they can burn up. 
The wagon will be leaving you if you stand here 
talking too long.” 

By that time most of the boys had assembled. 
They took the hint, also the supplies, and hurried 
to the barn in wild excitement. At the wagon they 
met Professor Mertz who looked over the group 
with a grin. 

“ What have you with you ? ” he asked. 

“ Grub,” was the prompt answer. 

“ Well,” Professor Mertz continued, “ all of you 
go back to the bunkhouse and get your sweaters, 
coats, blankets and hats — soft felts if you have 
them. I know that you want to travel light and 
think that because you are going to a fire you’ll be 
plenty warm but if you do happen to get a rest down 
there it will be cold. You may be gone a week and 
what little sleep you get you’ll want to be com- 
fortable.” 

When the boys came back Professor Mertz hauled 
174 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


out a bag of lemons and tossed one to each. “ Here’s 
where we hand you each a lemon,” he said, “but 
most of you won’t know how big a one it is till you 
get home. Keep those till you need them. If you 
get dry when you can’t get to water try a suck. It’ll 
taste pretty good then.” 

They all clambered into the two wagons — one 
of them had just arrived from the post office in 
response to a telephone call — and the expedition 
started. 

The boys were in fine feather and sang lustily 
every song they could think of. For a long time 
after they had started, broken fragments of the 
songs floated back on the high wind. When they 
passed the Lodge they set up a mighty shout which 
made the few summer boarders who had ventured 
into the woods so early in the season, think that 
they were about to be the victims of an Indian 
massacre. 

The thing which impressed all the boys most was 
the apparent lack of hurry. They were used to 
seeing the fire engines tear up the city streets at full 
speed and the slow plodding of the work horses 
seemed the height of foolishness. Merton took ad- 
vantage of his position on the seat with Sturgis to 
inquire into the matter. 


175 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“Couldn’t we make better time walking?” he 
asked. 

“ Oh yes,” Sturgis answered, “ you could make 
quicker time, but you’d better save yourself for 
work later on.” 

At last there came an exultant shout from the 
boys. A long line of fire was visible on a ridge 
to the southward. The singing ceased and all was 
suppressed excitement which one moment expressed 
itself in silence, the next turned into a babel of wild 
speculations. The fire had appeared to be very 
close when they first sighted it, but as they mounted 
hill after hill and obtained new views it seemed to 
get no closer till a man suddenly appeared in the 
road to tell them that they had arrived. 

The air was loaded with smoke which made the 
eyes smart uncomfortably but there was no other 
sign of the fire. The smoke intensified the dark- 
ness so that in spite of the breaking day an object 
could not be distinguished ten feet away. The boys 
piled out in the darkness eager for orders and were 
somewhat disappointed when Sturgis told them to 
build a fire and sleep if they could. “ We’ll size up 
the fire and be back as soon as we can tell what to 
do.” 

There was a murmur of disgust from the crowd 
176 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and Bill voiced the general sentiment. “ Humph, I 
thought we came down here to put out a fire, not 
to build one.” 

The three men moved off into the woods, the 
lanterns bobbing weirdly over the uneven ground. 
The boys watched them dolefully out of sight. 

“ They say Diogenes hunted for an honest man 
with a lantern,” Bill mused, “ but that’s nothing to 
those three guys going out to look for a fire. It 
must be a whale of a fire.” 

The forest was full of strange noises which would 
have spoken volumes to an old woodsman. Every 
few minutes a sharp rending sound followed after 
a pause by a dull boom told of some old dead stub, 
the lonely silent sentinel of two or three centuries, 
undermined by the fire and hurled crashing to the 
earth by the wind, triumphant at last after so many 
defeats. The roar of the wind through the waving 
needles told of the violent struggle which the grow- 
ing pines waged continuously with that same wind 
which would in the end hurl them down as it had 
just hurled down the deadened stub. A hissing 
roar like great skyrockets occasionally painted a 
vivid picture of a noble spruce turned into a torch 
for the sport of the flames. Violent snapping of 
the twigs and brush told of some woods creature 
177 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


driven from its home, and in its confusion making 
short terrified dashes broken by long intervals of 
shivering, startled listening. All in between these 
strange noises the absence of the insects silenced by 
the wind and smoke, seemed to produce a weird, un- 
natural stillness. 

The boys had shivered around the fire for more 
than an hour when Sturgis appeared suddenly. 
“Well, I guess we’ve found her. Jones reports 
that she has already jumped him to the east of here 
and we’ll have to hustle to head her off. She’s in 
the park by now.” 

They tumbled into the wagon again, and the big 
farm horses, whipped into a lively trot now, jangled 
back up the road the way they had come. Even yet 
no great amount of fire was visible. 

At a sharp turn in the road where there was a 
considerable clearing, a scene was revealed that 
stunned them with a Realization of the true state of 
affairs. The clearing was bounded on the east by 
a wall of flame, a bloody red, streaked here and 
there by the black resinous smoke. The brush was 
burning violently with a dull roar, and every few 
minutes the flames rushed with a hiss to the tops of 
the scrubby jack pines. At the north end the smoke 
streamed out under pressure of the wind almost 
178 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


parallel with the ground, a sooty black slashed here 
and there with disconnected tongues of red flame 
which leaped far ahead of the main body of the 
fire and licked eagerly at the resinous tops of the 
pines. It was a sight to send cold shivers up the 
back of the bravest man, and the boys gazed at it in 
awestruck silence. 

On the left side of the road and within the park 
another fire crackled and snapped across a half-mile 
of front. It was seemingly entirely separated from 
the other fire a quarter-mile to the eastward, but a 
careful observation revealed a narrow trail of black- 
ened stubble where an offshoot of the original fire 
had skimmed a corn row, jumped the road and 
started another conflagration in the dense brush 
within the park. Already it was beyond any hope 
of immediate control. 

Sturgis drove into the brush beside the road and 
stopped. He waited for the crew to assemble be- 
fore giving his simple directions. 

“ Here’s where you have to do it, boys. That 
fire has to be stopped today or this whole park will 
be wiped out clean. We cannot do much with it 
in the daytime without backfiring and we can’t back- 
fire till we get a fireline to work from. I figure 
that we have enough lead on it now to make a break 
179 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


across the front of it before it gets here. It will 
be due here before very long. Every man must do 
exactly as he is told or he will run the chance of 
being burnt up. We’ll start in here at this road 
and run a trench to those lakes. Franklin has al- 
ready gone across to see how far west it reaches. 
From the other end of the lakes we’ll have to trench 
on around it. It means many hours of hard work 
and it’s up to you fellows to show what you’re made 
of. We’ll eat a little lunch and start in.” 

The lunch was hastily pulled from the wagon and 
gulped in silence. The boys were at last convinced 
that something serious was really going on. In ten 
minutes they picked up their tools ready to start. 
Sturgis strung them out rather close together on a 
line leading to the lakes and himself disappeared 
into the brush to the westward. 

For a while the boys worked in silence digging 
their little trenches and spreading the dirt on the 
leaves on the side toward the fire. When no im- 
mediate signs of the fire appeared they began to 
relax a little and call to one another. 

" Do you really believe that fire can burn clear up 
here by this afternoon?” Scott called to Merton 
who was working next to him. 

“ Search me,” Merton called back. “ Sturgis and 
180 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Dan seem to think so and they must know. 
Doesn’t seem possible, does it?” 

“ No, not if we can judge by the way it was 
traveling this morning. Still, it was going some 
on the other side of that clearing.” 

They had just about finished the ditch assigned 
them when Sturgis appeared again with Dan and 
two of the men. 

“ You haven’t any time to lose, fellows. Start 
the backfire there right at the edge of the trench. 
Then watch it like a hawk to see that no sparks 
blow over on you.” 

He lighted a handful of leaves with a match and 
thrust them into the litter to start the fire in the 
brush. It was not a difficult task. The dry leaves 
and brush ignited readily and the fire spread rapidly. 
By picking up bunches of burning leaves and carry- 
ing them a little farther along the line the fire was 
soon spread over the entire distance from the road 
to the lakes. It ate back slowly against the wind 
and sparks were continually jumping the narrow 
space across the little break. Nor were they as 
easily handled as they had been in the early morn- 
ing. Every spark which landed started a fire im- 
mediately and several times fires were started in 
dead pinetops which required the whole force to 
181 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


put them out. Dan and the men aided in the work 
where they were needed. 

The boys found it hot and exciting work. The 
lack of sleep the night before, the ride in the spring- 
less wagon and the early morning work were be- 
ginning to tell on their untried muscles. Gradually 
as the front of fire crawled back farther from 
the trench fewer sparks were carried across and 
they were enabled to devote part of their time to 
putting out the dead stubs and wiping out every 
trace of inflammable material in the burned area. 

The backfire had burned some hundred feet from 
the trench and yet there was no sign of the ap- 
proach of the main fire other than the thick pall 
of smoke which the wind drove down close to the 
ground. It irritated their nostrils and stung their 
eyes, especially the smoke from the hardwood brush 
in the backfire, till the tears streamed down their 
faces. 

Scott found himself enjoying a few minutes rest 
near Dan. “ It seems as though this backfire would 
burn up more of the forest than the other one. 
Couldn’t you start it closer to the main fire?” he 
asked. 

“ You ain’t any too far away from it now,” Dan 
answered. “ Listen.” 


182 



His instinct was to run . . . but he stood there too terrified 

to move. 



















































































































































































































































































































































































. 


























































































SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


The crackling of the backfire near at hand made 
it hard to distinguish more distant sounds, but 
Scott could hear a dull roar which seemed to domi- 
nate everything like the base viol in an enormous 
orchestra and it was apparently growing rapidly 
louder. The dull boom of falling trees became 
more and more frequent. Suddenly, as he listened, 
this indistinct roar swelled to a terrific burst of 
thunder. It was like to nothing he had ever heard 
before, and yet in it he recognized the elements of 
a great fire, the same sound that he had heard in 
a big fireplace, but magnified so tremendously that 
it was almost beyond comprehension. His instinct 
was to run, run anywhere, no matter where, but 
he stood there too terrified to move. 

“ Ain’t she going some now ? ” 

The calm voice close beside him brought him to 
his senses and the sight of Dan gazing unmoved at 
the opposite hill reassured him. He shuddered to 
think how near he had come to disgracing himself 
and laying himself open to the everlasting jibes of 
Bill Price. He felt the blood coming back into his 
pale face and was thankful for the soot which cov- 
ered it. He tried to look unconcerned, but the fre- 
quent bursts of ever increased fury on the other 
side of the hill made him start in spite of himself. 

183 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“Will that little line of burned brush stop such 
a fire as that ? ” he asked as calmly as he could. 

“ Nothing would stop it up there,” Dan answered, 
“ but she'll slow up some when she gets to the top 
of that hill. How about starting the backfire a 
little closer to it? ” he grinned. 

Before Scott could answer the taunt the fire burst 
over the entire length of the ridge in front of them 
with one mighty, deafening roar and the red flames 
shot a hundred feet in the air. It was a sublime 
sight, those red flames shooting wildly up through 
the dense pall of black smoke but Scott would have 
felt more comfortable a mile or two away. The 
scant two hundred yards to the top of that ridge 
seemed as nothing in the face of that raging con- 
flagration. A deer maddened with fright and 
blinded by the smoke, bursting through the backfire 
and dashing close to him in its flight, almost threw 
him into a panic. 

“ Poor chap,” Dan murmured, looking after the 
fleeing deer, “ he’s safe now, but the wolves will be 
eating many a roast partridge and quill pig back 
in there about next week.” 

The rush of the fire died as suddenly as it had 
started. Only for a few minutes the flames raged 
furiously along the brow of the hill, then it dropped 
184 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


down to the ground and became a mere brush fire, 
crawling slowly down the slope to meet the back- 
fire which was already creeping close to the foot of 
the hill. Ominous crackling, snapping and boom- 
ing told of the destructive work going on beyond 
the ridge,' but the mighty initial rush of the flames 
was over. The blast of hot air made the sting of 
the smoke almost unbearable, and it hastened the 
burning of the backfire. It swept up the hill with 
a speed and roar which would, a few minutes be- 
fore, have seemed marvelous but now in comparison 
with that fury of the main fire driven by that fur- 
nace heat seemed but a paltry bonfire. The fronts 
of the two fires met, consumed whatever was within 
their reach and died away to a few smoldering logs. 

Sturgis appeared once more, this time from the 
direction of the road where he had been scouting 
to the eastward to see what progress the fire was 
making outside of the park. He addressed himself 
to Dan. 

“ That fire that just came up over the hill crossed 
the road from the eastward just north of Alcohol 
Lake away ahead of the fire we saw in the Park. 
Good thing we did not try to head it farther down. 
The fire on the other side of the road is still a half- 

185 


mile south. ,, 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ What made her go so much faster inside ? ” 
Dan objected. 

“ Don’t you remember that tangle of dead brush 
and slashings between here and Alcohol?” Sturgis 
asked. “ That’s what did it. They have been 
burned up on the outside. You take Pat and Phil 
and see that the fire does not cross the road behind 
us. Let Phil take the teams up to the Lodge. I 
think maybe you can stop that outside fire at the 
turn of the road. It’s four o’clock and she’ll begin 
to run a little slower before long.” 

“ Leave that to us,” Dan answered confidently ; 
“ she’ll never get in behind you.” 

“ All right,” said Sturgis, “ I’ll get the boys to- 
gether over there at the lake for lunch and by that 
time Franklin ought to be back.” 

Scott went out with Sturgis to the wagons to get 
the lunch and they carried it over to the little lakes, 
collecting the fellows as they went. It was a tired, 
hungry crew that sat around the campfire and 
swapped adventures. 

“ When I saw that fire this morning,” Bill Price 
said, “ I thought those fellows last year were telling 
us some fairy stories, but when I heard them feed- 
ing the lions over back of that ridge and saw the 
fireworks on top of the hill I concluded they had 
1 86 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


never been to a forest fire. How did you fellows 
feel over there in the brush when that little inferno 
stunt was pulled off ? ” 

Scott did not mind telling his sensations as long 
as he had not yielded to them and he found most 
of the others had felt about the same way. 

“ Strange,” Bill said, “ all you fellows felt like 
running. Such a thing never occurred to me, but,” 
he added, with a grin, “ I pulled up a four-inch 
sapling trying to keep from jumping in this lake.” 

“ I wonder if we’ll be going home now? ” Green- 
leaf asked, as he stretched wearily out on the flat of 
his back. 

“ No,” Scott said, “ Sturgis sent the wagons up to 
the Lodge just before he came over here.” 

“ I suppose we’ll have to patrol this line all 
night,” Spencer grunted. “ Where’s Sturgis 
now ? ” 

“ Went west again.” 

“ Holy mackinaw ! ” Bill exclaimed. " That man 
has walked just one thousand miles since morning. 
I’m going to sleep.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


B UT just then Franklin came in with Sturgis. 

“ Pretty dry out that way/’ he grinned, 
helping himself to an enormous slab of 
bread and a big hunk of cheese. 

“ How far west does the main fire extend ? ” 
Sturgis asked. 

“ Within about forty rods of Deming Lake.” 

“ Deming Lake ! ” Sturgis almost shouted. “ That 
means that it may get on to section thirty-six.” 

" Almost there now,” Franklin answered cheer- 
fully. “ We can stop it on that row of lakes if it 
just don’t come around from the southeast on the 
other side of them. That’s going to be the big 
trouble.” 

“ We’ve got to stop it,” Sturgis gritted between 
his clenched teeth. “ If that fire ever gets into that 
young growth on thirty-six Professor Roberts will 
never forgive me.” 

“ The only way you can do it,” Franklin assured 
him cheerfully, “ is to clean things up here tonight 
so that you won’t have to waste men on patrol and 
1 88 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


fight her face to face down there in the morning.” 

“ I guess you're right,” Sturgis assented, “ and 
we’d better be getting at it. You take the boys and 
start cleaning up from the south end of the lake 
here and I’ll go see what Dan is doing with the 
fire across the road. 

“ We’ve stopped the first rush now and there is 
no more danger tonight, but the wind is a little 
southeast and if the fire gets around us to the west 
and breaks away in the morning we’ll be worse off 
than we were before and all our work wasted. Now 
we have to clean up the edges of this fire for two 
miles. Bury the fire along the edges, cut down all 
the stubs which may throw sparks, and throw back 
into the fire all burning logs and rotten stuff.” 

“ Two miles,” Bill Price exclaimed, “ and here 
I’ve been dreaming of home and mother. Come 
on, boys, for every one that dies there’ll be one more 
vacancy for the under classmen.” 

They filed away around the lake and were soon 
scattered along the front of the fire intent on their 
gruelling work. The wind had gone down and the 
fire no longer ran readily, but it burned too fiercely 
to permit of close approach and they were forced 
to resort to the slow, tiresome process of trenching 
and allowing the fire to burn up to it. It was com- 
189 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

H 

paratively easy to keep it from crossing. Then they 
were able to go back and complete the cleaning up. 
As each man cleaned up the little patch assigned to 
him he passed on to another ahead of the foremost 
man. And so they worked one weary hour after 
another, slowly crawling along that crooked line. 
It became so dark and the line of the fire was so 
crooked that the boys had no idea where they were 
or where they were going. Each man was prac- 
tically isolated in the darkness. Occasionally it 
happened a man toward the end of the line who had 
been delayed by some refractory stubs found him- 
self deserted and became completely lost, unable to 
find the other workers. 

At last at one o’clock they were allowed to rest 
and they fell asleep by the campfire like one man. 
At three o’clock Sturgis called them again. 

They had to be shaken individually, some even 
required repeated applications, to bring them to 
their senses. Slowly they scrambled to their feet, 
still half asleep, groaning with the aches and pains 
which shot through their wracked bodies. They 
saw the men up and going silently about the morn- 
ing preparations, realized that they had been favored 
with all the extra time there was for sleep, and 
choked down their troubles in silence. No one 
190 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


seemed to have anything to say, not even Bill Price, 
but it was the dogged silence of determination, not 
sullenness. The meager breakfast was soon over 
for they were running short of provisions, and they 
were ready to work once more. 

“Are we working again or yet?” Bill asked 
musingly. 

“ Sorry I could not let you sleep longer, fellows,” 
Sturgis apologized, “ but we can cover rods now to 
the feet we can make when the sun gets up. Dan 
will keep the men here to make breaks between the 
lakes and backfire as soon as it’s dry enough. The 
rest of us will go down to the south end of Jose- 
phine and see what we can do there. It’s a race 
for the north end of Niowa and we must win.” 

The wind was already on the rise. On the rise 
and from the east, the worst possible direction. 
Sturgis placed his scattered line of workers, urging 
them to greater efforts, and took the trail he had 
come down that morning to rob Dan of two of his 
small force. They had already completed their 
short breaks across the narrow necks and were wait- 
ing for an opportunity to start the backfires. 

“ Can you do it with one man, Dan ? ” he panted. 
“ It’s a race down to Nimashi Lake, and every man 
counts there.” 

191 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ I can try it,” Dan answered simply. 

With his two recruits Sturgis hurried south once 
more, harried the poor weary workers to frenzied 
efforts and took up his own position at the south 
end of the line. Already the wind had fanned the 
fire to a heat that made close work impossible and 
they had to resort to the slow work of trenching 
and backfiring. There were still two hundred yards 
to go. Slowly the men began to come around from 
the rear to take up the new positions in front, and 
the gap was narrowed. Even at that it looked as 
though it would be impossible to head it at the lake, 
but at the last minute five men came up from the 
rear, Scott among them, and under Franklin’s lead 
fought the fire face to face. Clothes were burned 
and eyebrows singed, but they fought desperately. 
They beat the fire out of the last grass strip between 
the hill and the lake in one grand triumphal rush. 

For the time that fire was safe. The reaction 
on the overworked boys was almost immediate. 
With one accord they lay down wherever they hap- 
pened to be and went to sleep. Sturgis looked at 
them enviously. He had worked harder than they, 
and on considerably less sleep, but he knew that 
their apparent victory over the fire could be turned 
to a complete defeat by the passage of a single un- 
192 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

watched spark across that narrow fireguard. Only 
a weary patrol of the entire fireline for the rest of 
the day would make it safe. 

He turned away with a weary sigh. “I guess 
it’s up to you and me and Dan, Franklin, to patrol 
this thing. I never saw a better working bunch of 
boys, but they are not used to it, and they are all 
in.” 

“ Well,” Franklin grinned, apparently as fresh 
as when he started, “ the fire’s almost all in, too, 
and I guess we three can handle it.” 

They had just started to trail away northward 
over that weary stretch of line, leaving the boys 
asleep where they were, when Professor Mertz, who 
had gone home the night before, strode over the 
brow of the hill with a big pack sack on his 
back. 

“ By George, Mertz,” Sturgis cried gratefully, 
“ you’re the best-looking man, with that pack on 
your back, that I’ve ever seen.” 

“ How’s the fire? ” Professor Mertz asked anxi- 
ously. 

“ It’s all over but the shouting,” Sturgis assured 
him, “ if we can just keep awake long enough to 
patrol it for the rest of the day. It was pretty hot 
down there by that lake, but the boys fought like 
193 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

good fellows and stopped her. It can’t get by be- 
low.” 

“ Where are the boys?” 

“ Sound asleep right where they dug the last 
shovelful of dirt. They hit the ground and were 
snoring before the dirt fell.” 

“ Pretty tough one for a starter,” chuckled the 
professor. “You fellows look pretty tired your- 
selves. I brought five men down with me and put 
them to patroling above here. Guess they can 
handle it all now. Dan was in a pretty tight hole 
back there.” 

The strain relieved and the necessity for keeping 
at it removed, Sturgis and Franklin sat down with 
a thud, and would probably have joined the boys if 
the sight of the pack sack had not kept them awake. 
The professor soon had the coffee boiling and the 
supplies spread out temptingly. Getting the boys 
awake was a harder task, but the mention of some- 
thing to eat aroused even the most weary and they 
fell to with a will. 

It was agreed that the fresh men should be left 
to maintain the patrol until six o’clock that night, 
and all the rest should go back to camp in the 
wagon. It was a tired crew, but they kept their 
spirits buoyed up by the feeling that they had won 
194 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


a great victory and made good. They tuned up 
for the Lodge and sang lustily in answer to the 
cheers of the summer boarders who turned out to 
see them go by. The songs heralded their ap- 
proach long before they reached the camp, and all 
the non-combatants were out to welcome them. 
They presented a begrimed and bedraggled spec- 
tacle, but they were supremely happy. 

“ Do I win that pop? ” Sturgis called after them 
as they trailed away to the bunkhouse. 

" You sure do,” Bill Price shouted back, “ and 
I’ll bet you another case that I can sleep till to- 
morrow noon without waking up even to eat.” 

Scott remembered how the fire swept roaring up 
that hill and dreamed all night that he was fighting 
just such fires sweeping up the mountain slopes of 
his own forest in New Hampshire. The fact that 
he might never get that forest made them seem none 
the less real. 


CHAPTER XIV 


F OR the next few days the adventures of 
that fire were the sole subject of conversa- 
tion. Hazen, the official historian, devoted 
all his spare time to writing up the details in the 
official scrapbook and they lost nothing of their 
vividness in the process. It was wonderful, now 
that it was all over, to see how they had enjoyed 
that gruelling work on the fireline. Scott wrote 
home an account of the fire which perfectly con- 
firmed his parents in their belief in the woolliness 
of the West, but left them undecided as to whether 
the fire had been a catastrophe narrowly prevented 
by almost superhuman efforts or a harmless scheme 
devised for the amusement of the students. Such 
were the views of the fire, now that it was past 
history and the frequent rains precluded its repeti- 
tion, but it was a notable fact that throughout the 
remainder of the summer no one was heard to wish 
for another. 

The ground had thawed out sufficiently for the 
196 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


nursery work and the boys were spending their days 
busily in the seed beds. 

The novelty of the work in the nursery had made 
it interesting at first, but otherwise it was not very 
fascinating, and on the fourth day it was getting 
monotonous. Each crew of two had thoroughly 
spaded up a bed four feet wide by fifty feet long 
and had bordered them with boards on edge, which 
Professor Mertz required to be set with excruciating 
exactness. The boys declared that he could smell 
the slightest deviation in one of those boards. 

The beds thus prepared had then to be covered 
with a layer of carefully prepared manure and that 
in turn covered with a layer of well sifted sandy 
loam. The dirt sifting soon became monotonous 
and monotony in that crowd necessitated some side 
line to keep up the interest. Fourteen ingenious 
minds were looking for some opportunity to put a 
little spice into the mechanical labor. 

Morris straightened his long angular frame 
stiffly, stretching his tired arms over his head and 
gazing straight into the zenith in his effort to relax 
every muscle he had been straining over that sand 
sifter. The action exposed very prominently a 
leather thong attached to the ring of a large silver 
watch. The chance for a joke seemed slight, but 
197 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


it was no time to neglect the slightest opportunity. 
Bill Price grabbed the thong with the quickness of 
a cat and was surprised to find how easily the watch 
slipped from Morris’s pocket to his own. 

Several saw the transfer and prepared to elab- 
orate the joke. Hazen, working on the next bed, 
took a stretch. “ Gee, but this is a long day. 
What time is it getting to be, Morris ?” 

Morris felt confidently in the accustomed pocket 
for his watch. His fingers fumbled there persis- 
tently for a minute before he realized that the watch 
really was not there. At the mention of the time 
all within hearing had looked up : they were all in- 
terested in the time. 

Morris felt doubtfully in his other pockets. He 
was the legitimate butt of many of the camp jokes, 
and a wink from Price told all the others that 
something was up. 

“ I don’t know,” Morris answered hesitatingly, 
“ I’ve lost my watch.” 

“ Lost it ? ” Price exclaimed. “ When did you 
have it last?” 

“ Looked at it just a little while ago.” 

“Haven’t been away from here, have you?” 
Hazen asked. 

“ Only down to the dirt pile.” 

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SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Must have fallen out of your pocket when you 
were leaning over the bed,” Greenleaf suggested. 

“ Don’t see how it could fall out on this bare 
ground without my seeing it,” Morris objected. 
“ There is nothing around here to hide it.” 

Bill Price was equal to the occasion. “ Perhaps 
you covered it up in the beds. You’ve been sifting 
sand over them. Might have dropped right under 
the sifter,” he suggested. 

“ Yes, that might be,” Morris acknowledged, rue- 
fully looking over the broad expanse of beds. 
“ It’ll be pretty hard to locate it.” 

“ I should think you could hear it,” Merton said, 
“ it can’t be covered more than half an inch.” 

Morris grasped at the possibility. “ By George, 
that’s right,” he said. 

“ You’ve only sifted these four beds, haven’t 
you?” Price asked encouragingly. 

“ Yes,” Morris answered after thinking a minute, 
“ only these four here.” 

While the rest of the fellows gagged themselves 
or rolled ecstatically in some out of the way corner, 
Morris jack-knifed his gaunt length over the bed 
and, with his ear close to the ground, occasionally 
scooping up a little loose sand, weaved his way 
slowly up the long bed. The lowliness of his head 
199 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and the extreme length of his thighs caused him to 
present a most remarkable figure. This queer 
position coupled with the set expression of intent 
listening threw the boys almost into convulsions. 

Slowly he went up one bed and down the other 
without varying his tiresome procedure in the least. 

“ Reminds me of a spring robin looking for 
worms,” Merton said. “ You’ll see him pull one 
up in a minute.” 

“If you can’t hear that watch there,” Bill Price 
called sympathetically, “ go out in the brush and 
hear a wood tick.” 

“ Why don’t you give him that watch, Hazen? ” 
Greenleaf called across from another bed. “ He’ll 
break his back in a minute.” 

But Morris was not the man to leave a thing 
half done. He covered those four beds con- 
scientiously, and rose with a groan only when he 
was sure that the beloved watch must be hiding 
elsewhere. 

“ Seems queer where it could have gotten to,” 
he mused. “ It ticks pretty loud, and I could have 
heard it if it had been there. The only other place 
it could be is in the sand pile. You fellows be 
careful how you shovel in that pile.” 

He returned to his job of sifting dirt over the 


200 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


bed, but kept an eye on the sand pile and shouted 
wrathful warnings every time anyone went near 
it. Of course they all took occasion to go there 
as much as possible and jabbed the shovel around 
recklessly. 

Price was working with Morris. One of them 
brought the dirt from the pile while the other 
sifted it onto the beds. They shifted frequently, 
for the sifting work was very tiresome. Price 
watched his opportunity, slipped the watch into a 
shovelful of sand and dumped it carefully into the 
screen. Everyone stood at attention. Two or 
three shakes of the screen and the silver twinkled 
through the sand. 

Morris’s face beamed at the sight of it. Amidst 
profound silence he examined the watch minutely. 
“ Not a scratch on it,” he announced innocently. 
“ I don’t see how it escaped, the way you fellows 
have been jabbing around that sand pile. I remem- 
ber feeling it drop now,- but I did not realize what 
it was at the time.” 

For a moment it looked as though there would 
be a general outburst, but the fellows all changed 
their minds and decided to keep it for the next 
year’s banquet. 

That joke livened up the crowd and before the 


201 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

effects of it had worn off Professor Roberts arrived 
to take up the work of forest mensuration. The 
boys welcomed the change because it took them into 
the woods on all day expeditions. They packed 
their lunches, slung them on the back of their belts, 
and felt that they were good for all day no matter 
where they were called upon to go. Sometimes 
they traveled all day on foot, more often they took 
the scow to some distant point on the lake before 
striking into the woods, but no matter how they 
started they were always certain of new adventures. 

One day as they were returning pretty tired from 
section 36 a fox terrier that had joined the camp 
as a volunteer was poking busily around all the 
bunches of brush looking for excitement. Scott 
watched him in disgust as he ducked into one clump 
after another with undiminished energy and rose 
frantically on his hind legs in his vain efforts to 
follow some little chickadee into a neighboring tree. 

“ That dog makes me sick,” Scott remarked to 
Price in deep disgust. “ He’s been trying to fly 
all day and he hasn’t been three feet off the ground 
yet.” 

“ Couldn’t do much better yourself,” Bill 
answered drily. 

“ Well,” Scott retorted, “ I should at least know 


202 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


it by this time. Why don’t he hunt something his 
own size instead of chasing those pesky little 
bunches of feathers? If he were any good he 
would scare up some real game instead of wasting 
his energy on those things.” The dog had picked 
out Bill for his temporary adviser, as far as a fox 
terrier permits himself to be advised by anyone, 
and Scott was attempting to use him for a club 
to get a " rise ” out of Bill. 

Just then the dog made two or three stiff -legged 
bounces in the brush as though in an apparent en- 
deavor to see something on the ground beyond. 

“ By George,” Bill exclaimed, “ if he tackles that 
porcupine he’ll have something more than his size. 
Come here, you crazy Jehu, and let that pincushion 
alone.” 

“ Don’t worry,” Scott assured him, “ no animal 
will touch one of those things.” 

But a fox terrier is governed by no laws, natural 
or otherwise. The porcupine had chattered his 
teeth defiantly and the dog, heedless of the warning 
shouts, flung himself upon the first game he had 
found that could not fly. The porcupine uttered a 
plaintive whimper, turned his back on the dog with 
astonishing agility and struck him full in the face 
with one blow of his powerful tail. The dog did 
203 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


not wait for more. With one astonished yelp he 
jumped into the brush regardless of direction or 
obstacles and continued his course due east at a 
terrific pace as far as they could see him. 

“ Running a pretty good compass course,” Bill 
remarked. “ He ought to be showing up over there 
in the west pretty soon; it won’t take him long to 
go around the earth at that rate.” 

“ Poor little chap,” Scott muttered. “ I wonder 
if any of those quills got him in the eye? There 
must have been a dozen of them in his face.” 

“ A dozen,” Bill exclaimed. " Ask him. I’ll bet 
he thinks there are a thousand.” 

“ If he comes back to camp we can pull them out 
for him,” Scott said. 

“ Yes, but if he runs like that for an hour it 
will take him a week of ordinary travel to get 
back.” 

In the meanwhile the porcupine had turned 
quietly to his own peaceful pursuits, chattering and 
whimpering up a young pine tree and stopping for 
a nibble or two at the bark as he went. He had 
apparently forgotten the existence of the dog and 
cared not a rap of his prickly tail for anything 
else alive. 

But the dog had by no means forgotten him. 

204 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


When the boys arrived in camp a half-hour later 
they discovered a white patch lying beside the pump 
in a puddle of water. 

“ Look there,” Scott exclaimed, “ there’s the dog. 
He looks sort of tired.” 

“ Probably ran a hundred miles,” Bill com- 
mented. “ Let’s see if he has shaken all those 
quills.” 

The dog, lying in a position of exhausted pros- 
tration, paid no attention to them. Tired out as 
he was he held his head wearily up from the 
ground. 

“ Gee, look at those quills,” Scott cried excitedly. 

“ Has more in his head than the porcupine,” Bill 
said. He stepped forward and tried to pull out 
one of the quills. With a yelp of pain the dog 
snapped at him viciously. “ They won’t pull out 
and they must hurt him worse than tight shoes. I 
wonder how we can get them out?” 

Just then Professor Mertz appeared with an 
armful of gunny sacks and a pair of pliers. “ Do 
you fellows want to take a hand in a surgical oper- 
ation?” he asked. 

“ Sure,” Bill said. “ We saw how he got ’em 
in, and now we’d like to see how you get ’em out.” 
He told the story of the brief, one-sided battle. 

205 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ He certainly has his share of them,” said the 
Professor. “ His eyes seem to be swollen shut, 
and it is little short of a miracle if there is not a 
quill in them. We’ll do our best for him, but he’ll 
be a pretty sick dog even if it does not kill him.” 

As Professor Mertz talked he slipped several 
layers of sacking under the dog’s body and wrapped 
him in it, securely binding his legs to his body. 
The dog, seeming to realize that someone was try- 
ing to help him, submitted quietly. 

“ Now you fellows wrap a lot of this sacking 
around your hands so that he cannot bite you and 
hold him as still as you can while I try to get at 
those quills. He’ll probably fight pretty hard.” 

When the dog was securely pinioned Professor 
Mertz cautiously fastened the pinchers on a quill 
in the dog’s nose and pulled. With a yelp of pain 
the dog snapped wildly and made a desperate 
struggle to get away. The boys were surprised to 
see how hard the quills pulled till a careful examina- 
tion showed the dozens of little barbs turned vic- 
iously backward. The operation was repeated 
again and again. A close examination discovered 
an almost innumerable number of quills. Some of 
them pierced the under jaw and protruded into the 
mouth, some which struck the roof of the mouth 
20 6 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


poked their vicious points through the skin on top 
of the nose, still others pierced the lips and tongue, 
while countless others stuck up in the face and ears 
like pins in a crowded cushion. Overcome by the 
pain the dog ceased his struggles and only emitted 
a plaintive whimper as the venomous little barbs 
were drawn. 

“ Don’t you know that hurts ?” Scott said, as 
he watched how the skin was drawn to a point on 
the extraction of each quill. “ I don’t see how he 
can stand it.” 

Price was silently counting the quills. “ Ninety- 
six,” he announced as Professor Mertz drew the 
last visible barb. “Just think of it. Ninety-six 
in that little space, and with one slap of that clumsy 
tail.” 

By that time most of the boys had come in and 
were standing around in a wondering group listen- 
ing to the oft-repeated story of the encounter, and 
marveling at the number of quills. The poor dog 
seemed to have given up completely. He no longer 
made the slightest move or demonstration. He 
apparently had no interest in anything. His face 
was swollen till his eyes were completely shut and 
the blood trickled freely from the dozens of little 
punctures. Professor Mertz bathed the fevered 
207 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

head and gently carried the patient over to a quiet 
corner of the shed. 

“ Now,” he said, “ you boys want to be careful 
how you touch him for a week or two. I have 
pulled out all the quills in sight, but there are prob- 
ably some others in his flesh which will gradually 
work to the surface and if you should happen to 
strike one of them in patting him he would prob- 
ably bite you — for they make a nasty sore.” 

For the next week Bobs was a pretty sick dog, 
and seemed to take very little interest in life. For 
a while they thought he must die, but he gradually 
improved and when it was possible to examine him 
carefully it was found that both his eyes had 
escaped injury. The boys were very careful of 
him. As Professor Mertz had predicted, every 
now and then during the next three weeks a 
gingerly inspection brought to light the points of 
quills in locations which showed that they had 
worked mercilessly through the flesh for some con- 
siderable distance. It was at least a month before 
he became once more his old light-hearted self and 
even then Bill Price could throw him into a violent 
fit of trembling by chattering his teeth like a 
porcupine. 


CHAPTER XV 


T HE thirteenth of June found everything 
running smoothly at the camp and the boys 
having the time of their lives. The crews 
were well organized and taking good care of the 
work assigned to them. Of course there had been 
many cases of neglect and carelessness but they had 
been overcome in one way or another and the boys 
felt quite proud of their management. The cows 
were milked regularly, the woodpile replenished to 
the satisfaction of the cook, the camp kept in good 
order and the class work zealously performed. 

All of these things were of importance, for on 
them depended the annual trip to the White Earth 
Indian Reservation. The former classes had all 
gone and no one wanted to see the custom broken. 
The president of the corporation had made formal 
application to Professor Roberts for three days’ 
absence for the whole class and preparations for 
the trip were busily under way. Pack sacks were 
being stuffed with all the necessary provisions and 
bedding, and through it all a running discussion of 
the plans for the celebration made the whole camp 
209 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


vibrate with heated argument. Lacking other 
forms of amusement an argument was always wel- 
come. Many a time an argument on predestina- 
tion, or some other equally abstract question, de- 
veloped oratory which could be heard half a mile 
away. 

The object of the trip in question was the annual 
celebration of the Peace Festival on the White 
Earth Indian Reservation, commemorating the 
treaty of peace between the Sioux and the Chip- 
pewa tribes. Years ago the forests of northern 
Wisconsin and Minnesota had been the hunting 
grounds of the Sioux till the Chippewas, driven 
westward by the warlike Five Nations (who had 
in turn been driven out by the Whites) forced them 
out into the open prairies. For years the Sioux, 
returning to the forests to avoid the severity of 
the winter on the plains, had clashed savagely with 
the Chippewas. Finally a treaty of peace had been 
made and every year they celebrated that peace at 
White Earth with horse races, canoe races, war 
dances and other festivities. 

“ Have you fellows decided yet how you are 
going? ” Merton asked, stopping in the door of the 
lecture hall, where a half-dozen fellows were fuss- 
ing over their preparations. 


210 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


A confused babel immediately broke forth. 
" No,” Bill announced complacently, “ nobody has 
decided anything but me; I’m going to stay home 
to take care of the 4 caows.’ ” 

“ Well,” Merton continued, “ I’m going to start 
right after lunch, and Til be glad of all the company 
I can get. The rest of you may decide what you 
please.” 

“ When do you expect to get there ? ” Bill asked. 

“ Tomorrow noon,” Merton answered confi- 
dently. 

“ Yes, you will,” Bill answered contemptuously. 
“ It’s fifty good country miles.” 

“ Yes,” Merton said, “ fifty-five of them. I’m 
good for it.” 

No one was willing to back down, so no one 
answered him, though each one had his own private 
opinion about it. 

True to his word Merton wriggled into his pack 
sack immediately after lunch and called for volun- 
teers. Scott was the only one ready to join him 
at once, and those two swung off up the road, leav- 
ing the others still hovering around undecided. 

“ Good-bye, fellows,” Merton called back to 
them. “ We’ll see you at White Earth if you ever 
get there.” 

211 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Don’t you be sarcastic,” Greenleaf called after 
them, “ we’ll be there to welcome you.” 

The two boys trudged on steadily; not very fast 
— for the road was too long ahead of them — but 
at a pace which would land them many miles on 
their road by nightfall. 

“If we only knew the road,” Scott said, “ it 
would not be so bad ; but there is no telling how far 
we shall have to walk to get there.” 

“ No, and they say there are no settlers in that 
country except Indians. They could tell us the 
way, but most likely they won’t.” 

“ Someone was telling me,” Scott said, “ that 
there is a lumber camp over there somewhere with 
a logging road running where we want to go. I 
hope we can strike it.” 

“ That would help some.” 

They had no trouble for the first eight miles. 
The road lay straight, though exceedingly rough, 
before them; but at that point they came to the first 
obstacle, a fork in the road. 

“ The more traveled one ought to be it,” Merton 
suggested, and they took it without more ado — 
for there was no use in wasting time in choosing 
when they had no possible way of determining the 
right course. For half a mile they had followed 


212 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


the rough winding road when they came to a 
tumbledown cabin and there the road stopped. 

“ Might have known that if we’d stopped to 
think about it,” Merton growled, as they immedi- 
ately retraced their steps. “ This fellow makes all 
the travel there is on that road, going to the store.” 

They soon reached the main road again — if 
such it could be called. Scott blazed a tree with 
his tomahawk and wrote the directions on it. 
“ Might as well save them the trouble,” he ex- 
plained, “ even if it does help them to catch up with 
us.” 

For nine miles more they jogged on steadily and 
were beginning to think that things were not as bad 
as they had been painted when they came to an- 
other fork where the road split up into two indis- 
tinct tracts, neither one of them sufficiently plain 
to justify anyone in following it with the hope of 
ever reaching a town however remote. They had 
not seen a soul since they left camp and there cer- 
tainly seemed very little chance of their meeting 
anyone on either of those roads. 

“ Neither one of them looks good to me,” Mer- 
ton grunted. “Let’s eat some lunch and then toss 
up for it.” 

It seemed the only thing to do, and in a few 
213 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


minutes they were eating hungrily. They had 
brought a canteen with them, and it was well that 
they had — for they had not passed anything, even 
at the tumbledown cabin which looked like good 
drinking water. 

“ There is one thing sure,” Scott said ; “ we 
have been traveling pretty steadily westward and 
must be north of where we want to go. Then we 
want to take the south road.” 

“ Yes,” Merton assented, “ and if we get out 
there five miles or so before we find that we are 
wrong we’ll beat it across country to the northwest 
till we strike the right road instead of coming back 
here. We can’t lose much that way.” 

“ No,” Scott agreed, “ nothing but ourselves.” 

“ Well,” Merton said, looking apprehensively 
down the road, “ let’s be going. We don’t want 
those other fellows to catch up with us here and 
think we’re stumped on this fork in the road.” 

They scrambled to their feet and set out briskly, 
for, as Scott explained, if it was the wrong road 
they wanted to find it out before dark, as it would 
not be very easy to travel across country through 
the woods in the night. The road did not get any 
better or any worse, nor give any other signs of 
its ultimate destination. They had been traveling 
214 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


in this way for two hours when they heard a dog 
barking ahead of them, and soon they spied a small 
shack. 

“ Now for some Indian talk,” Merton exclaimed 
disgustedly. 

He was not disappointed. In the doorway of 
the rickety old shack sat an old man, smoking an 
old blackened clay pipe, his eyes fixed on them in 
watery indifference. He must have been very old, 
Scott thought he looked at least a thousand. His 
face was a mass of deep-cut wrinkles forming the 
precipitous cliffs and mountain valleys of a bold 
relief map. His palsied head shook violently and 
his scanty white locks fluttered nervously against 
the high cheek bones. No one but an Indian could 
have looked so old. 

Merton addressed himself to the old man but 
had little hope of getting an answer. “ Can 
you tell us whether this is the road to White 
Earth? ” 

The old man’s expression changed not a particle, 
but he gurgled almost inaudibly, an incoherent 
stream of Chippewa. It did not enlighten them 
much, but it produced some effect, for a girl sud- 
denly appeared in the doorway behind him and 
looked them over curiously. As Scott looked at 

215 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


her his poetic visions of beautiful Indian maidens 
faded away. 

“That’s not Minnehaha/’ he mumbled; “that’s 
a cinch.” 

She was thin to emaciation, and unspeakably 
dirty. One eye was apparently closed with a loath- 
some disease, giving her face a sinister, leering 
expression. She did not look like a promising sub- 
ject, but Merton tried her. 

“ Bo jou, bojou,” he used the greeting of the old 
French courenrs des bois. “We are trying to get 
to the Peace Celebration at White Earth. Can 
you tell us whether this is the road?” 

The old man mumbled some more Chippewa. 
The girl stared at them sullenly. Scott took out 
half a dollar and looked at it thoughtfully. The 
girl’s good eye caught the gleam of the silver in- 
stantly. “ Frazee camp, ten mile. Straight trail,” 
she exclaimed, pointing to a faint track leading 
on westward from the house, and thrusting her 
hand eagerly over the old man’s shoulder for the 
money. Scott dropped it into her hand quickly, 
lest she should touch him, and with another ex- 
change of “Bojou” they took to the trail again. 
Anybody but an Indian living in that unfrequented 
place could not have resisted the temptation to 
216 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


watch them on their way, but the girl turned in- 
differently into the cabin and the old man did not 
so much as turn his eyes to look after them. 

“ It’s about ten to one that she’s stringing us,” 
Merton said cheerfully, “ but this is about as near 
right as we can go now and it will be great luck if 
we do strike that camp.” 

“ It’s only half past eight,” Scott said, “ and we 
ought to make the camp tonight if it is there. 
There’s a good moon. Wasn’t that girl a 
fright? ” 

“ That’s the way most of them look around here. 
They nearly all have trachoma. I have seen some 
pretty ones, but mighty few. Let’s hit it up a 
little. We don’t want to get to that camp too late, 
or we can’t get in.” 

The pace became too hot to permit of further 
conversation, and Scott amused himself revising 
his Indian ideas and speculating on what the Cele- 
bration would be like. The spectacle at the cabin 
had changed his expectations. The long June twi- 
light made the road plain before them till ten o’clock 
and by that time the moon was high in the heavens. 
By eleven o’clock they were beginning to think 
that the sight of that half dollar had led the “ beau* 
tiful Indian maiden ” to invent a lumber camp for 
217 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

the occasion, when they heard the snort of a loco- 
motive at no great distance ahead of them. 

“ There, by George ! ” Scott exclaimed. “ She 
was honest, if she was homelier than sin.” 

“The next question,” Merton said, “is that 
locomotive going or coming?” 

The sound had ceased, and they hurried forward 
to investigate. They found that it was only the 
“ swipe ” cleaning out the engine. They could see 
his figure flitting here and there around the engine 
in the dim light of a lantern. He heard them com- 
ing and stopped to see who it was — the camp had 
been asleep for two hours. When he saw their 
packs he took them for lumberjacks looking for a 
job. 

“ Nothing doing here,” he growled, without 
further greeting. “ The camp’s full up, and the 
boss has a waiting list” 

“ He’s lucky,” Merton commented. “ We’re not 
looking for jobs. We’re trying to get to White 
Earth. Will there be any train out in that direc- 
tion in the morning?” 

“ Five o’clock,” the man growled, “ if I can get 
this old teakettle cleaned out by that time. Where 
did you come from?” In the daytime he would 
probably have ignored their existence, but the lone- 
218 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

liness of the night and his curiosity made him 
sociable. 

“ Itasca Park/’ Merton answered. “ How near 
will the train take us to White Earth ? ” 

“ Some hike/’ he said, ignoring the question. 
“Going to the Peace Celebration, I suppose ?” 

“Yes, we just want to see the doings. How 
near did you say the train would take us? ” 

He seemed loath to answer them. “ ’Bout eight 
miles,” he finally answered. “ Reckon you fellows 
must be tired if you have hiked from Itasca. You 
can sleep there in that shack if you want to. I’ll 
call you in the morning.” 

It seemed to the boys that they had hardly closed 
their eyes when they were awakened by the engine 
and found it broad daylight. The man had for- 
gotten to call them, and they had just time to crawl 
onto the caboose when the train pulled out, lurching 
along over the uneven track. The little Shaw 
engine with its upright cylinders and geared con- 
nections made a noise which would indicate a tre- 
mendous speed, but the train barely crept along and 
they were an hour and a half going the fifteen miles 
to the junction where they had to walk once more. 
As they had eaten their breakfast in the caboose 
they started out at once on the road the brakeman 
219 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

showed them, and by nine o’clock they came within 
sight of the Peace Celebration. 

A small rolling prairie lay before them, com- 
pletely surrounded by forest and surrounding a very 
pretty little lake. The festivities had not yet 
started, but it was a lively scene, nevertheless. The 
tepees and wigwams of the Indians were scattered 
over the whole plain in most picturesque fashion. 
Indian braves in full regalia strolled leisurely about 
or sat smoking contentedly in front of their tepees, 
while here and there the booths of the squaws dis- 
playing all manner of Indian baskets, beaded belts 
and moccasins presented bold patches of color. 
Many visitors thronged the camps, bargaining for 
souvenirs and asking foolish questions of the Indian 
chiefs who never answered them. It was a peace- 
ful scene, and would have served as a model in 
point of order for many a white man's fair. The 
Indian policemen did their work well, patrolling 
the camp continuously on their moth-eaten little 
ponies. 

“ Well, Scotty,” Merton cried. “ Here we are, 
at nine o’clock in the morning. We sure were 
lucky. Those other fellows can’t get here before 
noon, anyway, and they’ll be all in. That train 
was the clear stuff.” 


220 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


44 Yes,” Scott said, “ fifteen miles is a pretty 
good lift, even on a train like that. Let’s pick out 
a place for a camp and fix things up.” 

They selected a site on a little knoll on the shore 
of the lake, where they soon had their dog-tent 
up and were sitting as comfortably in front of it 
as any chief in the tribes. They commanded a 
pretty good view of the whole field and could tell 
from the movement of the crowd what was going 
on. 

As they learned from one of the policemen that 
the program would not open till the afternoon 
with pony races, foot races, canoe races and a big 
parade, they decided to content themselves with a 
general view that morning and wait for the other 
fellows. 

At eleven- thirty they saw them coming straggling 
in along a road from the north and hurried to meet 
them. 

“ Where have you been all the forenoon ? ” Scott 
called tauntingly. 

“ I suppose you have been here all of five min- 
utes,” Morris sneered, “ or are you on your way 
home? ” 

“ No,” Merton said, “ we’re not quite ready to go 
home, but we have been here two hours. We came 


221 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


over from the lumber camp on the logging train. 
What time did you leave the camp ? ” 

“ We did not see any camp/’ Morris answered 
sullenly. “ We have not seen a soul since we left 
home. ,, 

They had taken the north fork of the road, which 
carried them north of the camp, but had the virtue 
of being five miles shorter. They had put up for 
the night in a deserted log cabin on the edge of a 
swamp, where they had been eaten up by the mos- 
quitoes, and had been walking since five o’clock that 
morning. It was a rather peevish crowd, and the 
luck of the others in getting a lift on the logging 
train did not improve their temper. While they 
talked they walked over to the camp, put up the rest 
of the tents and cooked dinner. An hour’s rest set 
them all up, and they were ready for anything the 
afternoon might bring forth. 

The program opened with the grand parade. 
It was quite an imposing sight. There were some 
three hundred Indians of the two tribes. They 
formed at opposite ends of the grounds, rode sol- 
emnly forward till the columns met, and joined 
forces in one big parade. The two oldest chiefs 
rode side by side at the head of the procession, 
decked in all the extravagance of paint and feath- 


222 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

ers that the savage mind could invent. To them 
it was a solemn occasion — for they could remem- 
ber the times when they had opposed each other in 
bitter strife — and they sat their ponies in stately 
dignity. The lesser chiefs followed, and the young 
bucks brought up the rear. They slowly circled the 
entire grounds amidst the cheers of the onlookers. 

The procession finally came to a halt on a little 
knoll which commanded a view of the lake on one 
side and the level race track on the other. Here 
the chiefs seated themselves solemnly in a large 
circle supported by a larger circle of braves. One 
of these brought the ancient peace pipe, lighted it 
at the fire in the middle of the circle and handed 
it to the oldest chief. The old man puffed sol- 
emnly a few times, and handed it on to his neighbor. 
At last the circuit was completed and the sacred 
rite was ended. The far-away look in the eyes of 
the older chiefs showed that their thoughts were 
wandering back to the bloody scenes of their early 
days and that they were counting again the scalps 
they had taken in those relentless fights. 

These rites ended, the young men hurried away 
to prepare themselves for the contests to come. As 
an athletic exhibition it was really pathetic. The 
competitors were in miserable physical condition; 

223 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


the half-starved ponies ran in a listless way, and 
the foot racers would have stood very little show 
in a high school track meet. The canoe races were 
slow, for the men who took part in them were so 
accustomed to letting their squaws do the paddling 
that they made a poor showing. 

“ It takes all the glamour of romance to throw 
any interest into that,” Scott remarked. “We en- 
joy it because they are real Indians, but I’ll bet 
they would not stand a ghost of a show in our 
Fourth of July Celebration.” 

“We ought to have brought along one of the 
oxen and entered him in the horse race,” Steve 
whispered. 

They had wandered down one of the streets to 
look over the baskets and bead work when an un- 
earthly hubbub broke out on the knoll they had 
just left. 

“ Something doing now, fellows,” Merton yelled, 
as he led the crowd back in the direction of the 
sound at full speed. 

“ Sounds like a cross between a dog fight and a 
heron rookery,” Bill muttered, as he slowly over- 
hauled Merton in the race. Their dash had caused 
a veritable stampede of all the visitors in the street, 
and long before they reached the scene of the dis- 
224 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


turbance they were leading a fair-sized mob. 

At the edge of the knoll they stopped short and 
gazed on the scene in amazement. Everything was 
peaceful enough, but prancing around the fire with 
a weird, halting step were the braves of the tribe, 
daubed with war paint and chanting their wild war 
song. It was a most monotonous performance 
which went on unceasingly without the slightest 
change, but there was a certain fascination about it 
which kept everyone silent for some time. Uncon- 
sciously the onlookers rehearsed in their minds the 
scenes of Butler’s raid and imagined these savages 
lashing themselves in this way into blood-thirsty 
fury. Or possibly some of those old chiefs looking 
on so grimly were in the force which destroyed 
Custer’s little troop. The same people watched 
and watched and then came back to see it again. 

All evening as the boys wandered from booth 
to booth bargaining with the squaws for beaded 
moccasins and belts, or danced in the pavilion they 
could hear that monotonous “ Ki yi, ki yi, ki yi, 
ki yi,” pervading everything. And late in the eve- 
ning when they went to bed in their little camp that 
dull drone which had at one time caused so many 
sleepless nights put them to sleep. 

In the morning they continued their shopping. 

225 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


It was a good-natured crowd composed of people 
from all over the country with some from the cities, 
and two troops of boy scouts. The boys found the 
squaws shrewd bargainers, with a thorough knowl- 
edge of the value of money and a pretty good idea 
of the white man’s craze for Indian trinkets. Nor 
were they all as ugly as the one Scott and Merton 
had seen at the little cabin. Some of them were 
strikingly handsome and their richly beaded, 
bright colored garments added much to their bar- 
baric beauty. It was a good deal of fun arguing 
with them. 

Immediately after lunch the boys packed their 
duffel and started for home, for Merton had 
learned that the logging train went east about three 
o’clock. Their trip home was uneventful. They 
spent the night at the lumber camp and came in 
sight of the school about three o’clock in the 
afternoon. 

“ Well, boys,” Bill called in a. fatherly tone from 
a comfortable seat on the front porch, “ how did 
you enjoy the circus?” 

Fifteen miles back up the road the opinion might 
have been different, but now that they were home 
they all declared it great, and as time went on it 
became “ greater.” 


226 


CHAPTER XVI 


I F any of the boys had come to camp that sum- 
mer with the idea that times would be dull 
there they were beginning to find out how 
badly they had been mistaken. As Bill Price said, 
“ there was something doing every minute and no 
time to sleep in between.” They had scarcely re- 
covered from the trip to White Earth when there 
was more excitement and it started from an old 
familiar cause. When they were working in the 
nursery one morning about ten o’clock they heard 
a wild yell down toward the turn in the Park 
Rapids road. 

It was impossible to determine who it was at 
that distance, but someone was swinging jauntily 
along and commanding them in stentorian tones 
and no uncertain terms to get to work. It was 
impossible long to mistake that manner and Green- 
leaf shouted, “ It’s Johnson.” They all trooped 
down to welcome him, for his sunny disposition 
and free comradeship had made him a favorite with 
everyone. 


227 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Good,” he called as he saw them approaching. 
“ Coming out to welcome the president, are you ? 
Where are the keys of the city?” 

“ Glad to see you, freshie,” Merton said grasping 
his hand warmly. “ Where did you blow in from ? 
We thought you had given up the idea of coming 
up.” 

“From the city of Arago. Hello, Greenleaf. 
Morris, you’re black as a nigger. Look at the 
mustache on Steve. All of you look sort of black 
and hairy. You are sure a hard-looking bunch. 
You see I walked out to the hotel at Arago last 
night and completed the trip this morning.” 

“ What are you going to do here ? ” Merton 
asked. 

“ Me ? Oh, I’m going to work for the State 
Forest Service as special patrolman. Have to re- 
port to the ranger at Park Rapids tomorrow. 
Thought I’d pay you a visit.” 

They had been walking up the road and now 
walked onto the campus by the library. All of 
them were interested in the news from the outside. 

“ Look at that old lake,” Johnson exclaimed 
eagerly. “Looks, good to me. Good swim- 
ming?” 

“ Fine,” Bill said, “ you’ll have plenty of chances 
228 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


to try it. Come on down and see the boathouse. 
Scotty has a fine canoe, and there’s a bunch of 
good boats.” 

They moved down the steps and out onto the 
long dock. Then it happened. Without a word 
being spoken Johnson suddenly found himself 
hanging back down with four grinning huskies 
holding his hands and feet while another trained 
a camera on him. 

“ One,” the crowd shouted as he swung out over 
the water. 

“ Two,” the swing was more rapid and he felt 
that he was gathering momentum. 

“ Go as far as you like, fellows,” he shouted 
irrepressibly. 

“ Three,” and with arms and legs spread wide 
he circled gracefully far out over the water like a 
huge heron. He landed with a tremendous splash, 
disappeared for an instant, and swam laughing back 
to the dock amidst shouts of side-splitting laughter. 
Professor Mertz was standing on the bank fairly, 
choking. 

“ What’s the next stunt? ” Johnson asked, laugh- 
ingly shaking hands all around again. “You put 
one over on me that time. I suppose you fellows 
have been lying awake nights preparing a warm 
229 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


reception for me. But come to think of it, you 
did not know that I was coming.” 

It was hard for anyone who did not know the 
complete harmony existing in the camp to realize 
that the whole scheme was conceived on the spur 
of the moment and carried out perfectly without a 
word. But such was the case. It had occurred 
to the whole crowd as to one man and they had 
carried it out spontaneously. 

“ Well,” Merton said, “ you took it like a man, 
so that is all for the present. The rest depends on 
you.” 

As they came up the slope Scott came tearing 
down across the campus. When he came out of 
the cookshack the whole crew had disappeared from 
the nursery. While he was wondering what had 
become of them he heard the shouting at the dock 
but had arrived just too late to see the fun. At 
the sight of Johnson dripping from every angle and 
squirting water from his boots at every step he 
stopped short. “What under the — ” he started. 

“ Oh, yes,” Johnson cried in mock sarcasm, “ I 
suppose this is a great surprise to you. You prob- 
ably will be asking me next how I got wet.” 

They shook hands heartily. They had not been 
on intimate terms since Johnson moved out of his 
230 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


room, but here in the woods everything seemed 
different. Everyone was intimate with everyone 
else there. . 

“ Well, how did you get wet? ” Scott asked. 

“You see in me, my friend,” Johnson orated, 
striking an imposing attitude, “the victim of mob 
violence. A peaceful citizen martyred to the 
ancient and dishonorable custom of compulsory 
immersion. I was duly baptized in my infancy, 
but your honorable associates here thought that it 
did not take and repeated the dose. In plain 
language, they threw me in the lake.” 

Johnson had the happy faculty of making capital 
out of everything that happened to him and he now 
moved gayly away with the crowd as solidly a 
member of the “ gang ” as though he had been 
there all the summer. He inspected the premises 
with the air of a proprietor and by evening was 
familiar with every detail of the camp. He jollied 
the cook, made friends with all the children on the 
place and arranged a four-day fishing trip with the 
postmaster a mile up the lake, because, as he ex- 
plained to the other fellows, that gentleman had 
the only supply of angle worms in that section of 
the country. 

That evening around the campfire he threw the 
231 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


crew into convulsions with a dramatic account of 
the conversation he had heard in Park Rapids be- 
tween the express agent and an irate fisherman. 

“ I tell you there isn’t anything for you,” said 
the agent. 

“ But I tell you there must be,” the fisherman 
retorted. “ They were shipped from Wadena two 
days ago.” 

“Was it a box?” the agent asked, looking over 
the waybills once more. 

“ Yes,” snapped the fisherman, “ and if it has 
been lost I’ll sue the company. I’m not going to 
have a week’s pleasure spoiled for nothing.” 

“ Well, there’s nothing here,” the agent answered 
doggedly. 

“ I would not have lost them for fifty dollars,” 
the fisherman raged angrily. “ Nothing is safe 
with this company any more.” 

“ What was in it ? ” asked the agent. 

The fisherman almost exploded with excitement. 
“ Seven dozen angle worms,” he screamed. 

“ That’s the reason I got next to the postmaster 
up here,” Johnson explained, when the laughter had 
subsided, “the agent said he had some planted. 

“ I expected to come up here the first of June,” 
he continued, “ but some bloated millionaire out at 
232 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

Minnetonka wanted his forest park trimmed up and 
I could not resist the temptation to help him out 
at five dollars per.” 

And so he ran on detailing the news of the cities 
and bringing the camp up-to-date on the doings of 
the rest of the University. He was perfectly at 
home. Everyone recognized in Johnson the quick- 
witted, steady nerved, natural born leader of men. 
Scott’s old admiration for Johnson grew as he 
listened to him and his conscience hurt him when 
he thought that he had never apologized for the 
boorish manner in which he had received his 
friendly advice. He longed to grasp his hand now 
and apologize — he knew Johnson would forgive 
him with undeserved readiness — but he could not 
do it before all the fellows and an appointment 
with Greenleaf to try the trout stream kept him 
from doing it that night. 

But he made a solemn resolution that he would 
make full reparation to Johnson, and to make sure 
that it would not be overlooked he stored it away 
in his memory with the determination to win the 
ten thousand acres. He felt that the accomplish- 
ment of those two things was essential to his 
happiness. 

Scott and Greenleaf hated to miss the news but 
233 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


had to leave the campfire early in order to make 
the camp near the trout stream, where the firebreak 
crew was located, before dark. They had planned 
to sleep at the camp and fish early in the morning. 

The other boys all made fun of them because the 
trout stream had the reputation of being the worst 
mosquito hole in the park. It was a walk of only 
two miles and a half, and they soon located the 
camp on a little knoll near the beautiful spring 
which formed the source of the trout stream. 

The men were smoking around the campfire 
preparatory to going to bed, for they kept early 
hours, especially on Friday night, that they might 
start an hour earlier Saturday morning to get off 
an hour earlier that night. They were delighted 
to see the boys, for they had little company, and 
doubly delighted at the prospect of trout for 
lunch. 

“ You boys did not bring a bear trap along with 
you, did you?” Dan asked. 

“Have you seen a bear?” Greenleaf asked 
eagerly. 

“ No,” Dan said, “ we didn’t see him, but he 
stole a dozen eggs and two pounds of bacon out 
of the cook tent last night.” 

“ Why don’t you lay for him ? ” Scott asked. 

234 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ Can’t touch him here in this park,’ 1 Dan 
answered. 

“ He’s probably ten miles away by this time,” 
Greenleaf said carelessly. He thought it was a 
scheme cooked up to try to scare them. 

“ No,” Pat said confidently, “ he has stolen some- 
thing from us nearly every night for a week.” 

It never occurred to Scott to doubt the story and 
he wondered at Greenleaf’s indifference, but Green- 
leaf was very cautious and dreaded being taken in. 
Dan saw that he did not believe it. 

“ Do you know a bear track when you see it ? ” 
he asked. 

“ You bet,” Greenleaf answered confidently. 

“ He left plenty of those visiting cards around 
here,” Dan said. 

Rising he led the way to the cookshack and 
showed them the claw marks in the butter tub, and 
then to the garbage heap where the soft ground 
was covered with tracks like those made by a bare- 
foot man. 

“ No mistaking those,” Greenleaf exclaimed ex- 
citedly. “ By George, let’s catch him tonight.” 

" What are you going to do with him when you 
catch him? ” Dan asked. “ You can’t kill him, you 
know.” 


235 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ We’ll cage him and take him down to camp. 
Where are the shovels, Dan ? ” 

Dan produced the shovels and sat down to watch 
the performance. Greenleaf was all enthusiasm. 

“ Come on, Scotty,” he cried. “ We’ll dig a hole 
right here beside the garbage heap. This seems to 
be where he comes most.” 

The boys worked so energetically that the hole 
grew apace. They worked in ten-minute shifts and 
made the dirt fly. It was almost pure sand with 
just enough clay to make the sides stand up, the 
easiest kind of digging. The men soon caught the 
spirit of the thing and volunteered to take their 
turns at the shovels. In an hour the pit was com- 
pleted, five by five and six feet deep, with perpen- 
dicular sides. 

“ There,” Greenleaf said, clambering out on the 
end of a shovel Dan extended to him, “ if Mr. 
Bruin tumbles into that he’s our meat.” 

“ Yes,” Dan laughed, “ he’ll be our meat, but the 
next thing will be to cure the meat.” 

“We’ll shovel this garbage into the pit to lead 
him on,” Greenleaf said. “ Now where is the 
brush you cut when you built this camp ? He won’t 
be as apt to suspect that as he would fresh cut- 
ting.” 


236 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ There’s a pile of it up there by the bull pen,” 
said Pat. 

They brought down two or three loads of it and 
built a weak cover over the pit, strong around the 
edges but exceedingly weak in the center. This 
was accomplished by placing many small limbs with 
the heavy ends resting on one side and the tips on 
the other, using enough of them for the butts to 
make a fairly strong thatch all around the edge. 

“ Now,” Greenleaf said, “ where is something we 
can use for bait ? ” 

“ I thought you put the garbage in there for 
bait,” Scott suggested. 

“ No, that was just to prevent him from making 
a meal off of it without getting near the pit at all. 
Besides, he’s been smelling that every night for a 
week. We want something real tempting.” 

They canvassed the resources of the cook tent 
and finally decided on the lid of a pork barrel with 
a piece of bacon on it. This Greenleaf placed care- 
fully in the center of the brush covering. 

“ There,” he exclaimed, “ that ought to get him 
if anything will. Now let’s make all those things 
in the cook tent safe so that he cannot get a meal 
in there.” 

Everything was made shipshape for the night 
237 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and they went to bed — for it was already much 
later than the men had intended to sit up. 

“ Gee,’’ Greenleaf whispered to Scott as he 
wriggled into his blanket, “isn’t this great? It 
beats fighting fire, and I’ll bet you tomorrow’s 
breakfast we have that bear before morning.” 

It was not easy to go to sleep with the prospect 
of catching a bear any minute, but they finally made 
it and dreamed of whole droves of bears eating at 
the breakfast table with them. The hard day’s 
work, the sighing of the breeze in the jack pines 
and the great stillness of the woods made them 
sleep soundly. No unusual noises disturbed them; 
the hours slipped by uncounted. It was half past 
four when an excited shout from Dan aroused the 
whole camp. 

“ By George, fellows, we’ve got him. He’s in 
there.” 

He did not have to call twice. Greenleaf almost 
tore a hole in the side of the tent getting out and 
the others were close behind him. Sure enough 
there in the bottom of the pit was a yearling black 
bear, bouncing wildly around and digging furiously 
at the walls. He made frequent springs at the edge 
of the pit and several times succeeded in clawing 
the top. He had evidently been very little con- 
238 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


cerned by his fall until disturbed by the awakening 
of the camp — for he had eaten the bacon and 
picked the garbage over very thoroughly. 

“ Ha, ha, my boy/’ Greenleaf called to him, “ you 
will steal our eggs, will you? You’ll make exhibit 
‘ A ’ in our menagerie now for a little while till 
we finish with this camp.” 

The bear resented the taunts with renewed efforts 
to escape and he was clawing down so much dirt 
from the sides that it was evident he would soon 
have enough pulled into the bottom to enable him 
to jump out. Every jump he made brought him 
a little nearer to the surface. 

“ You fellows put some poles across the top of 
this pit,” Greenleaf directed, “ good heavy logs, to 
keep him from getting out and I’ll go down to camp 
to get Sturgis to build a cage for him. Don’t let 
him get away, whatever you do. Knock him in 
the head first if you have to.” 

With that he was gone. It was only half past five 
when Sturgis went out to milk, and saw Greenleaf 
puffing up the road. He thought the mosquitoes 
had probably chased him out as they had several 
former fishermen, and he rather wondered at it 
— for he thought him a better sticker than 
that. 


239 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Where are the fish ? ” he called as soon as 
Greenleaf was within hailing distance. 

“ The mischief with the fish,” Greenleaf panted. 
4t We’ve caught a bear.” 

“ Caught him,” Sturgis laughed. “ Where is he, 
following you home ? ” 

“ Not this trip. I haven’t got him trained yet.” 

Greenleaf explained the capture, and suggested 
that they build a cage to keep him in till the work 
on the east line was finished. It seemed the only 
thing to do, and they set to work immediately to 
build a substantial cage of two by fours and a piece 
of woven wire hog fence. They loaded the crude 
cage on a one-horse wagon and started out for the 
camp. 

“ Won’t those fellows be surprised,” Greenleaf 
chuckled, “ when we bring them in a bear for 
breakfast instead of a trout?” 

They were soon back at the bear pit, where they 
found things pretty much as Greenleaf had left 
them. The bear had dug down considerably more 
dirt but had tired himself out and was lying quietly 
in the bottom of the pit. They carried the cage 
over to the edge of the pit with the open end close 
to the edge. 

“Little fellow, isn’t he?” Sturgis said, peeping 
240 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


down between the poles. “ We oughtn’t to have 
much trouble with him.” 

“If you had seen him bouncing around in there 
a while ago,” Dan said, “ you wouldn’t be so sure 
of it.” 

“ Well,” Sturgis answered, “ we’ll try him, any- 
way. Pat, you get that light logging chain while 
we take these poles away.” 

The removal of the logs seemed to give the bear 
renewed hope, and they soon found that he was 
only resting, and not nearly so exhausted as he 
looked. He sized them up sullenly for an instant, 
and then made a vicious lunge at Dan which 
brought him head and shoulders above the edge of 
the pit. He clung desperately to the rim and only 
the crumbling of the sides kept him from getting 
out. He fell heavily on his back but recovered 
himself instantly, sprang again with a vicious snarl, 
and a furious blow of his paw laid the leg of Green- 
leaf’s trousers open for a foot. Once more the 
crumbling dirt threw him back. 

As Pat came running up with the chain, tying a 
slip noose in it as he ran, the bear made another 
desperate spring and obtained a firm hold with his 
front feet, balanced a second and drew up one hind 
foot to the solid ground. In another instant he 
241 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


would be free from the pit, an ugly customer to 
handle in his infuriated condition. Greenleaf 
sprang forward with the intention of pushing him 
back into the pit with his hands at the infinite risk 
of falling in with him, but Dan was ahead of him 
and struck the bear a heavy blow on the head with 
the flat of an ax. The blow knocked the crazed 
animal back into the pit just as he had all four feet 
on the surface. 

" I hate to do it, old man,” Dan said, “ but I 
ain’t crazy to hug you.” 

The bear was dazed by the blow and wandered 
aimlessly around the pit, snarling horribly. He 
was not ready to give up yet. 

“ He pretty near had us that time,” Sturgis said, 
“ but don’t hit him too hard. Run that noose end 
of the chain through this far end of the cage, Pat, 
out of the open end there and down into the pit. 
Then if we can get the noose around his neck we 
can pull him right into the cage and hold him there 
while we nail him up.” 

Scott took charge of the noose and attempted to 
lasso the bear. It was a difficult trick. Every 
time he had the noose nearly on the bear would 
grab it and bite it savagely. At last he saw his 
chance. The bear sat up on his haunches for a 
242 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


better view of his tormentor and Scott dropped the 
noose neatly over his head. The noose refused to 
tighten and Dan reached down with a shovel to 
slip it along. The bear slapped it a blow that tore 
it out of Dan's hands and sent it rattling up against 
the side of the pit, but his temper proved his un- 
doing. He pounced savagely on the fallen shovel, 
the only thing he could reach, and the lunge 
tightened the noose. 

“ Now will you be good?" Scott shouted tri- 
umphantly. 

“ Get on the end of that chain, boys," Sturgis 
directed, “ and keep it tight while I dig down 
this side of the pit so that we can drag him 
out." 

The edge of the sandy pit was soon broken down 
to an easy slope and the protesting bear was 
dragged relentlessly into his new home. The hog 
wire was quickly fastened across the end of the 
cage and the chain loosened. For a few minutes 
the bear resented its captivity desperately, tore 
furiously at the wire, threw itself violently against 
the side of the cage, and growled savagely. But it 
did not last long. The tremendous exertions in the 
pit, the heavy blow on the head and the utter futility 
of the attacks on the cage had broken his spirit, 
243 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and abandoning all hope he lay quietly down in the 
cage, wholly indifferent to everything. 

“ That’s the way, old boy,” Greenleaf said sooth- 
ingly, “ take it easy. We are going to take you 
to a nice place where you will get more to eat than 
you have ever had before in your life.” 

They brought the wagon over to load the cage, 
but found a new difficulty. The horse had no idea 
of hauling a bear. The instant he scented the 
brute he became almost unmanageable and it re- 
quired the combined efforts of the whole crew to 
keep him from getting away. He trembled vio- 
lently and snorted with fear. 

“ Take him out,” Dan said, “ and I’ll get the 
oxen. They haven’t sense enough to be afraid of 
anything.” 

Dan did not like the oxen, but he knew their pos- 
sibilities. When the change had been made they 
set out for the school, Greenleaf leading the proces- 
sion on the rebellious horse. 

The news of the capture had spread rapidly 
around the campus. Two or three of the boys met 
them a mile down the road, the others were all 
assembled near the library, students, professors’ 
families, visitors, workmen and all, awaiting the 
arrival of the mighty hunters. Some were await- 
244 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

ing the further development of what they consid- 
ered a joke; others were prompted by genuine 
curiosity to see a real, live, wild bear. 

Greenleaf looked a little anxious at the waiting 
crowd and then at the cage. “ I wish he’d perk 
up a little,” he said, riding as near the cage as the 
horse would consent to go. “ Can’t you twist his 
tail a little, Scotty? Bill Price will be saying he 
was dying when we found him.” 

“ He hasn’t a great deal of tail to twist, so far 
as I can make out,” Scott answered doubtfully, 
“ and nothing seems to arouse him at all. I won- 
der if he is going to die after all? ” 

The crowd cheered loudly as the wagon pulled 
slowly into the yard and pushed close around the 
wagon to inspect the prize. 

“ You need not be afraid,” Greenleaf assured 
the ladies, “ Dan had to knock him on the head with 
the flat of an ax and it has dazed him a little. 
He’ll be all right in a little while.” 

" What did he hit him for? To loosen him from 
the ground?” Bill Price drawled. “You must 
have had a hard time dragging him into the cage, 
Greeny.” 

“ Never you mind,” Scott retorted, “ if you had 
seen him trying to get out of that pit and ripping 
245 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

Greenleaf’s trousers nearly off, you’d have thought 
he was a pretty lively corpse.” 

“ In a pit, was he ? ” Bill asked quietly. “ I sup- 
posed he was dead but why do you suppose they 
tried to bury him?” 

“ Never mind, Greeny,” Scott consoled him, 
“ Bill would not have had the nerve to catch a dead 
one.” 

“ Cheer up, fellows,” Greenleaf grinned as he 
helped carry the cage over to a shady spot, “ we’ve 
got the first bear ever caught in the park, if he is 
a dead one, but if you all live to grow up you may 
catch one yourselves some day. Who can tell? 
Bears are dumb brutes.” 

Scott looked eagerly around for Johnson but he 
had already left for Park Rapids, and Scott had 
to harbor his troubled conscience for many another 
month. It was beginning to hurt. He little 
dreamed then how splendidly he would some day 
square the account. 


CHAPTER XVII 


T HE bear recovered from the crack it had 
received on the head, thrived in its new 
mode of life and became one of the 
curiosities of the park. It became quite tame, per- 
mitted a favored few to scratch its head, and only 
occasionally hurled itself at the wire with an ugly 
snarl when strangers approached the cage. Dif- 
ferent people tried a great variety of food upon it, 
but nothing seemed to satisfy it so well as the blue- 
berries and fish; of these it never tired. 

The capture of the bear had opened up a new 
field of interest to Scott. He knew the geology 
of the country thoroughly — could trace the origin 
of almost every type of pebble to be found in the 
glacial drift; his dendrology and botany had 
brought him in touch with all the trees and plants, 
but the great field of animal life he had completely 
overlooked. The bear furnished a point of con- 
tact, and he grasped the new lead eagerly. He 
undertook the responsibility of feeding the bear 
regularly and enjoyed studying his diet and habits. 
247 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


There were many good books on natural history 
in the library and he soon obtained a pretty good 
idea of bruin in all his relations to man and beast. 
He was surprised to see how many new points of 
interest this study brought out and still more sur- 
prised to find how many traces of bear he could 
find in the woods now that he knew enough to look 
for them. 

Naturally to such an active mind as his, the study 
and observation of one animal could not help but 
be an introduction to the other forms of animal 
life. The deer, wolves, minks, lynx, wild cats, 
skunks, otter, coons, porcupines, woodchucks, squir- 
rels, chipmunks, frogs, fish, nutes, salamanders, 
snakes, birds and a host of others he had never 
dreamed of crowded upon his attention and filled 
the woods with a new interest. Now that his eyes 
were opened he could not walk a hundred yards 
without seeing something to attract his attention. 
He was beginning to realize how the old woodsman 
with his knowledge of woods’ life could live for 
months without human company and never feel 
lonely. 

Greenleaf had long ago discovered this secret, 
and could help him greatly in his observations. Al- 
most every Sunday when the other fellows were 
248 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


enjoying themselves with the girls at the Lodge these 
two were canoeing around the lake or tramping 
through the woods investigating some of the deni- 
zens. 

As Greenleaf expressed it: “ There’s plenty of 
time to rush the girls when you are cooped up in 
town and can’t get at the other animals.” 

It came about very happily that just at the time 
when Scott was beginning to get interested in the 
animals a naturalist came to visit the camp and a 
geologist came to give the boys some field work. 
Scott’s thorough knowledge of geology let him out 
of the class work and enabled him to put in a large 
part of his time with the naturalist. The trips he 
made with this interesting man lent him an enthusi- 
asm and gave him many practical hints which car- 
ried him easily over the preliminary stage which is 
apt to be rather discouraging to the uninitiated. 
It carried him to a point from which he could easily 
go on alone. 

This new friend, Dr. Barnes, was a man of deep 
reading and wide observation, a Chautauqua lec- 
turer, and a most interesting conversationalist. He 
had camped all over the north woods studying the 
habits and watching the antics of the woods crea- 
tures. He was as delighted to find a fellow en- 
249 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

thusiast no matter how green a beginner, as Scott 
was to profit by his experience and they became 
great chums. 

The special attraction which had brought Dr. 
Barnes to that particular place at that time was an 
opportunity to study the beaver, of which there 
were a great many in the park. Two pairs placed 
there ten years before had increased until they popu- 
lated dozens of lakes and had built some dams of 
remarkable size. The evidence of their work was 
everywhere but the beavers themselves seemed to 
possess a wonderful faculty for keeping out of 
sight, and Scott was astonished when he tried to 
look them up in the books to find how little seemed 
to be known about them. 

“Well, Scotty,” Dr. Barnes called to him one 
morning, " suppose we paddle down to the beaver 
dam on the west arm and reconnoiter a little? I 
want to look over the situation there and see if 
there is an opportunity to stay down there some 
night and watch them work — for I believe they 
work at night.” 

“ Very well, sir,” Scott replied, “ I am free to- 
day, and shall be delighted to go wherever you sug- 
gest.” 

“ I suggest,” said the doctor, “ that we take lunch, 
250 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


explore the place thoroughly, and, if we find it prac- 
ticable, go back after supper to spend the night.” 

They were soon ready to start, and armed with 
a camera and two axes they paddled swiftly down 
the west arm. Two deer, standing knee deep in 
the water, half hidden by the reeds, watched them 
curiously as they paddled past, but they were bent 
on rarer game, too intent to turn aside. 

“ They say the dam is up that little creek ; it’s 
a cedar swamp,” Scott said, " but I don’t know how 
wet it is.” 

“ Well, let’s land on that high point just this 
side of the swamp and we can work in from there. 
The dam must touch that dry land somewhere.” 

“ There. The canoe is safe. Shall we take our 
lunches?” Scott asked. 

" Certainly,” the doctor replied emphatically, 
“ one of the first rules of the woods ; never get 
separated from your lunch.” 

They climbed the steep bank to a bench which 
marked a former level of the lake. It had been 
covered by a good stand of popple, but most of it 
was now down, apparently thrown by a windstorm. 
Suddenly Dr. Barnes spied a stump. 

“Can it be — ” he began excitedly running over 
to examine the stump. “Yes, sir, that one, that 

251 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

one, that one, everyone of them gnawed down by the 
beaver.” 

He was trotting hurriedly from stump to stump. 
Scott hastened to examine one of them and found 
it very distinctly marked with the print of teeth, 
as though it had been cut off with a series of gouges 
with a concave chisel. It was a very neat job. 

“ Just about two acres cleared clean,” he said, as 
the doctor puffed up from the swamp. “ I did not 
know they cut down such big trees.” 

“ Big trees ! ” the doctor echoed. “ There’s a 
stump down there on the edge of the swamp fifteen 
inches in diameter. We must have some pictures 
of this.” 

While the Doctor busied himself with the pictures 
Scott scouted around. 

“ Look here,” he shouted excitedly, “ here are 
some regular skidways and logging roads.” 

The Doctor came on the run. “ Yes, sir, well 
planned ones, too. You see they cut down the tree 
simply to get the twigs and smaller branches. The 
latter they haul down these skidways, float to their 
pond near the house and keep under water so that 
they can peel them in the winter time. Now let’s 
go look for the dam. There ought to be a beaver 
trail down to the swamp.” 

252 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


He was right. A well beaten trail led them down 
to the swamp and right to the end of the dam. It 
was a queer looking structure ; a low embankment of 
dirt and sticks winding away across the swamp, 
which was dry below the dam and covered with a 
foot of water above. They walked along the top 
of the dam pacing the distance as they went. As 
they neared the stream the dam increased in height 
to about six feet backing up a corresponding depth 
of water. 

“ Two hundred and forty feet,” the doctor said, 
“ isn't it wonderful? ” 

“ What is it for ? ” Scott asked. 

“ You see they had to build it so long on account 
of the swamp. If the banks of the stream had 
been steep the dam would have been short. They 
build it to keep water always around the house, 
which is built in the pond above the dam. The 
entrance to it is under water. The wolves can't 
get into it. Besides that it gives them a chance to 
get under the ice for their sticks in the winter. 
See that big pile of sticks out there in the pond? 
That is the house. Let's see if we can get out 
there.” 

By walking fallen trees and wading shallow bars 
they finally reached the house. It was some fifteen 
253 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


feet across and protruded about four feet above the 
water. It was built of sticks — all of them prov- 
idently peeled beforehand — from an inch to three 
inches in diameter, the whole plastered thickly with 
mud. It seemed perfectly solid. There were a 
few tracks in the mud and a whimpering such as 
might be made by small pups came from the in- 
side, but no beavers were to be seen. They re- 
traced their way to the dam. 

“ Right there,” the doctor said, pointing to a 
mound of comparatively dry moss, “ we could spend 
the night quite comfortably. I believe that if we 
break a hole in the dam so that they can hear the 
running of the water they will come to fix it up.” 

They made their way down the stream. There 
were several other dams which had apparently been 
abandoned, all short, but one of them higher than 
the new one. Just before they reached the lake 
Dr. Barnes was delighted to find an old abandoned 
house. 

“ Now,” he exclaimed excitedly, “ we’ll see what 
it’s like inside.” 

The solidity of the structure was wonderful, but 
by dint of considerable hard work with the axes 
they cut away half of the house, showing the in- 
terior in cross section. It was some time before 
254 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

Scott had a chance to inspect it himself for the hole 
was no sooner opened than the doctor crawled into 
it head first; spasmodic wriggling of his legs and 
a series of muffled exclamations alone told of the 
state of his emotions. He stayed so long that Scott 
began to fear that he had moved in there to live. 
He finally wriggled out very red in the face, and 
very jubilant. 

“ Why don’t you look in there ? ” he asked. “ You 
can see just how they live.” 

Scott did not waste any time explaining why he 
had not looked in, but crawled eagerly into the 
muddy opening. Much to his surprise he found 
the floor of the house well above the level of the 
stream and perfectly dry. The roof of the house 
was arched up with great skill leaving an opening 
in which a good-sized man could curl up very com- 
fortably. On two sides there were tunnels leading 
down to small dirt landings almost on a level with 
the surface of the water. From these the beaver 
could slip conveniently under the water, still within 
the house, and swim out through a submarine pas- 
sage. It was certainly a very ingenious arrange- 
ment — for they had all the advantages of living on 
land and at the same time were protected absolutely* 
from the attacks of all land animals. The floor 
255 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


was covered with fish bones, which Scott learned 
later had probably been left there by the mink who 
had made use of the house after its abandonment 
by the original inhabitants — for the beavers them- 
selves do not eat fish. 

No sooner had Scott wriggled out than the doc- 
tor crawled laboriously in again with a pencil and 
envelope in his teeth to draw a sketch of the in- 
terior. This completed and several photographs 
taken of the house from all angles, they ate lunch, 
traced out the boundaries of the cuttings on both 
sides of the swamp and paddled home to prepare 
their outfit for a night in the wet moss. Dr. Barnes 
was all enthusiasm. 

The other boys had no desire to share in the ex- 
pedition, but they were immensely interested in 
a way and shouted bits of advice and sarcastic 
sympathy after the canoe as long as it was in 
range. 

The long twilight gave them plenty of time, and 
they sneaked the canoe along the edge of the lily 
pads in hope of catching some of the beavers out 
foraging — for it was the time of day when they 
were most often seen. As they approached the 
cedar swamp they observed a green popple branch 
moving mysteriously and swiftly across the surface 
256 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

of the lake. Closer observation showed that it was 
being vigorously pushed along by an energetic 
beaver. They gave chase to see what he would do. 
He was evidently loath to give up the prize, for he 
only swam the faster, throwing quite a swell like 
a small tug boat. Finally the pursuit became too 
hot for him and he abandoned the branch, diving 
under the surface with a splash. Several times he 
came up to reconnoiter, diving again almost in- 
stantly. Each time he dived he struck the water a 
blow with his broad flat tail which sent his head 
under with a jerk and made a report easily heard a 
half-mile away over the still water. 

They paddled the canoe over toward the shore 
again to see if he would recover the branch. After 
several false starts he took it in tow once more and 
disappeared with it up the creek. When the canoe 
was still some distance from the shore they spied 
another beaver dodging around the lily pads. He 
was so intent on his own business that he did not 
seem to notice the silently moving canoe. He was 
evidently making his evening meal off of the yellow 
lily buds. Rising head and shoulders above the 
water, he would devour a bud with great relish, 
sink silently into the water and come up alongside 
of another juicy bud. They followed these man- 
257 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

euvers for some time before he took alarm, dived 
with a loud splash and was seen no more. 

They scouted around cautiously but failed to find 
any more night marauders. 

“ We’d better go ashore now,” the doctor sug- 
gested, “and fix things up for the night. It may 
get dark before we are ready.” 

They pulled the canoe up on the marshy shore 
and made their way up the stream to the spot they 
had picked in the morning. The mound of moss 
proved to be none too large, but the blankets were 
finally arranged so that they thought they could 
spend the night in comparative comfort. 

“ Now for a hole in the dam,” the doctor said, 
with suppressed excitement. “Where’s the ax?” 

They soon found that a pick would have been 
more effective. The dam was built even better than 
they had thought. The sticks were woven together 
and plastered with a solidity that astounded them. 
A breach some three feet long and a foot deep was 
finally made, and the water came pouring out with a 
rush which must have appalled the beavers. 

“ There,” said the Doctor panting from his exer- 
tions, “ that ought to bring them all to the rescue. 
We must keep very still and wait patiently.” 

“ Do you think they can smell us here ? ” Scott 

258 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


asked anxiously. “We are pretty close to the break.” 

“ No, I don’t think so; most of these water ani- 
mals rely more on sight and hearing than on smell. 
They may be suspicious for a while, but they will 
have to fix it for fear of having their pond drained.” 

It did not take the beavers long to discover the 
break in the dam. The watchers had scarcely set- 
tled themselves on their blankets when they heard 
the distant plunk of a diving beaver in the pond. 
There was a moment of tense silence and then an- 
other plunk nearer. 

“ Here they come,” the doctor whispered ex- 
citedly. “ Keep quiet.” 

The approaching beaver evidently wanted to in- 
vestigate the leak, but had no idea of being drawn 
into an ambush. He circled cautiously around at 
a distance, diving nervously at short intervals, till, 
finally assured that there was no danger, he swam 
boldly up to the breach and nosed around it. They 
could see the faint glimmer from the little roll of 
water he pushed along in front of him and once he 
passed so close to them that they could hear his 
heavy breathing. Then he swam quietly away. 

“ That must be the watchman sent to reconnoiter,” 
the Doctor explained. “ He has gone back to re- 
port on the break.” 


259 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


He must have made a very lengthy report or had 
some trouble in convincing the others, for it was a 
full hour before they heard anything from him. 
Then once more they heard the distant “ plunks.” 
Much to their disappointment he came alone. He 
repeated the same performance as before and dis- 
appeared once more. 

“ He must have forgotten some of the details,” 
Scott muttered. 

Another hour of waiting and he came again. He 
seemed worried over the escaping water but showed 
no inclination to repair the dam. 

The next hour it was the same thing. “ He must 
patrol this place all night,” Scott suggested. " Do 
you notice that he strikes the hour almost to the 
dot?” 

“ Yes,” the doctor murmured, a little sleepily. 
“ They must come to repair that dam pretty soon. 
We ought to have made the hole deeper.” 

It grew cold in the swamp and each hour seemed 
colder than the preceding one. The dismal squawk 
of a night hawk or the honk of a passing blue heron 
sounded occasionally above the monotonous flowing 
of the water. An owl seemed to be hooting fun at 
them from a neighboring tree — for he always 
started up just after the sentinel had made his round, 
260 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and along toward morning the occasional scream of 
a coon just returning from his night’s marauding, 
pierced the stillness. The crowded quarters on the 
little mound of moss were very hard on cramped 
muscles and the lack of industry on the part of the 
proverbially busy beavers was thoroughly disap- 
pointing. Scott was beginning to feel his enthusi- 
asm in the beavers oozing away. 

The dawn, that chilling interval between night 
and morning, was stealing upon them and soon the 
streaks of light began appearing in the eastern sky. 

The Doctor stretched himself as much as he dared 
without getting his feet in the water and sat up 
shivering. “ I guess we have seen about all we are 
going to see this trip,” he said despondently. “ We 
might as well go down here on dry ground where 
we can stretch ourselves and cook breakfast.” 

“ Don’t you suppose they are going to fix that 
blooming dam sometime?” Scott asked in disgust. 

“ Surely they’ll fix it,” the doctor replied con- 
fidently; “maybe they work in the daytime. We’ll 
come back again sometime, break the dam wide 
open, and hide on a platform in the trees. Maybe 
that would get them.” 

Scott made a mental resolve that he would not 
make one of the party in the tree, but the little doc- 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

tor’s ardor was so little dampened by the failure 
that he soon felt ashamed of himself. 

“ After all,” the doctor said reassuringly as they 
paddled back to camp, “ we did not fail altogether. 
All scientific facts are collected slowly, one by one, 
and each new one is so much added to the sum of 
human knowledge. We have seen a beaver patrol- 
man on his beat — even had some water splashed 
on us by him — and that’s more than any other 
scientist I know can say.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


I T was Saturday evening and the boys had gath- 
ered around the campfire on the lakeshore — 
for the breeze was rather chilly as it often was 
even in those summer months. Most of them had 
been working all day and were now content enough 
to lie idly by the fire listening lazily to the three- 
days-old baseball news or throwing gibes at Higby 
and Porter who were preparing for their nightly 
canoe trip to the Lodge. 

“ Gee,’’ Greenleaf said, “ I wish something ex- 
citing would turn up.” 

“ Caught any more sick bear ? ” Steve asked sar- 
castically. 

“That bear was the liveliest corpse you ever 
saw,” Greenleaf retorted. “ The bears have not 
bothered any more lately, but I found a peach of 
a partridge nest this afternoon. Eleven eggs in it. 
And on the way home I found a mallard duck’s 
nest away up on the hill back of the dining hall. 
There were eleven eggs in that, too. You better 
get some pictures of them in the morning, Morris.” 
263 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ How will those ducks ever get down to the 
lake?” Morris asked. 

“ March down,” Greenleaf answered. “ The 
day after they hatch every one of them will be in 
the lake. You ought to have seen that old partridge 
when I found the nest. She fluttered right across 
my feet twice, playing at a broken wing, and when 
I went away she ran after me hissing and whining 
like a pup. I reckon she thought she scared me 
out.” 

“ Probably did,” Bill Price insinuated. 

Before Greenleaf could retort Sturgis came 
around the corner of the library and called him. 

“ I wonder if he is going to spoil my evening? ” 
Greenleaf growled, but he jumped up cheerfully 
enough. He was doing some extra work clerking 
for Sturgis. 

The two disappeared around the library, and the 
desultory discussion around the fire continued. In 
a few minutes Greenleaf walked back to the fire 
alone. He stood there talking casually until he had 
caught Scott’s eye, when with an almost impercep- 
tible raising of the eyebrows he beckoned him away. 
He walked off whistling toward the bunkhouse and 
Scott soon followed him. 

“ What is it ? ” Scott asked eagerly, when he had 
264 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

overtaken the loitering figure, for he had caught 
something in Greenleaf’s eye which showed excite- 
ment. 

“ What is it? ” Greenleaf repeated excitedly. “ It’s 
something that will make capturing that bear look 
pretty tame.” 

“ What?” 

“ Catching a man,” Greenleaf said mysteriously. 

Scott was burning up with curiosity. “Well, 
why don’t you tell a fellow what it is instead 
of mooning around like a hero in a dime novel? 
Who is the man? Where is he? What has he 
done ? ” 

“ We don’t know who he is,” Greenleaf answered, 
with exasperating deliberation, “ and you mustn’t 
talk so loud about it. There is no telling who may 
be in with them. It would not do to have them 
warned now.” 

Scott gritted his teeth. “If you don’t want your 
neck broken you’d better explain this thing. What’s 
it all about, anyway? ” 

Greenleaf looked around suspiciously and drew 
Scott out into the open tennis court. “ Sturgis has 
a hunch,” he whispered, “ that those men who are 
working on the north road are trying to snare deer 
in the park. He wants us to help him catch them. 

265 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

It’s against the law, you know, and he’s a game 
warden.” 

“ Whereabouts are they?” Scott asked eagerly. 

“ He thinks the snares are over in Hubbard 
ravine. We’ll go over there tonight and try to 
catch them in the early morning when they come to 
look at the snares.” 

“ Gee,” Scott chuckled, “ that will be something 
worth while. Are we going to start now ? ” 

“ Sturgis said he would wait for us at the corner 
of the pasture. We’d better take our coats with 
us; it’ll be cold waiting.” 

A few minutes later the three had met and were 
hurrying out the old road toward the ravine. The 
boys were eager with suppressed excitement. They 
felt the primitive thrill of the manhunter. 

“ How did you hear about it? ” Scott asked. 

“ One of the men heard them talking,” Sturgis 
said, “ and saw them hanging around the ravine one 
evening when he was going home.” 

“ How many are there?” Greenleaf asked. 

“ Two men and a boy up there, but probably we 
cannot get more than one of them. They will not 
all come to see the traps.” 

“ Do you think they’ll fight ? ” Scott asked eagerly. 

“ No,” Sturgis said, “ I doubt if they will fight 
266 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


much, but they’ll probably put up an awful run for 
it. There’s a hundred dollars’ fine.” 

They walked on for a while in silence, each one 
figuring out his tactics for the coming battle. It 
was a very dark night. Only the blacker outline of 
the trees against the dark sky indicated the opening 
of the road ahead of them. Now and then they 
heard some night prowler rustling through the 
brush, or the swift short rush of a frightened rab- 
bit. Once they came dangerously near stumbling 
over an indifferent porcupine who refused to give 
them the road. It made them a little more careful 
how they picked their steps. 

“ We’ll have to leave the road here,” Sturgis 
said, stopping at a trail which would have been 
entirely invisible to anyone not thoroughly familiar 
with the woods at night. “ They may be looking 
for tracks in the road in the morning and we don’t 
want to scare them off.” 

It was slow work picking their way along that 
crooked trail. It wound through a dense stand of 
young jack pine, and the darkness was absolute. 
Again and again Sturgis had to wait for them, for 
it was necessary that they be in touch with each 
other if they were to stay together. It seemed to 
Scott as though they must have gone miles and 
267 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

miles, but he knew that it could not be far. The 
steep side slope on which they were traveling told 
him that they were on the edge of the ravine. The 
whir of frogs in the hollow told of a shallow lake. 
They left the side hill trail to avoid the gullies and 
then wound here and there to keep out of the denser 
brush. Scott no longer had the slightest idea where 
he was or which way he was going, but Sturgis evi- 
dently had his bearings, for he turned abruptly down 
the hill across a narrow neck between two swamps. 
On the opposite edge he stopped to listen. 

“ Those fellows are camped right up there a 
quarter of a mile, ,, he said. “ Don’t make any 
noise, because they may have a dog in camp.” 

Scott was astonished to find that they were on a 
road, but it was grass-grown and would tell no 
tales. Once more they turned from the road, this 
time into an open stand of Norway pine free from 
undergrowth. They had gone just far enough to 
be out of the way of any stragglers from the road 
when Sturgis stopped. “ We’ll wait here,” he said. 
“ It’s a pity we cannot light a fire, for it will be 
cold.” 

“ Why did we start so early?” Greenleaf asked. 
“ They are not likely to come before morning.” 

“ No,” Sturgis said, “ they won’t come before 
268 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

morning but I don’t know just where that runway 
is. The moon will be up after a while, so that we 
can find it and pick out a good place to hide.” 

" What sort of a trap do they use? ” Scott asked. 

" They don’t use a trap,” Sturgis said, “ they use 
a snare. Bend down a sapling, attach a wire loop 
to it, and fasten it down with a trip. You don’t 
want to get into it for it may be a good-sized tree 
and it would jar you some.” 

They waited in silence for two hours. It was 
too cold to sleep. Scott tried it once, but he soon 
woke up shivering. After that he tried to keep 
warm by deep breathing and straining one muscle 
against another. The darkness was beginning to 
seem interminable when the moon, coming slowly 
above the horizon, cast a faint shimmer of light 
through the clouds. As the light grew stronger 
Scott distinguished the steep declivity close in front 
of them leading down to the swamp and recognized 
the trout stream which the bear had kept him from 
fishing. The tangled swamp looked in that half 
light like a pretty poor place in which to catch a 
man, but he tightened his shoe lacings at the mere 
thought of the race and the blood tingling through 
his veins soon warmed him. 

“ Now let’s see if we can find that runway,” 
269 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

Sturgis said, rising stiffly. “ Look out for that 
snare.” 

They crawled slowly along the edge of the hill, 
searching for the deer-trail and taking great care 
not to leave a trail themselves — for as Sturgis had 
said, men who were running the risk of a hundred- 
dollar fine would be mighty suspicious of the least 
sign of an intruder. They had not gone over forty 
rods when they came to a very plain trail leading 
down into the swamp. “ This must be the trail,” 
Sturgis said, “and this little clump of young popple 
is a good place to hide. They ought to come from 
this side.” 

Once more they took up the silent, weary watch. 
It seemed to Scott as if he must get crosseyed look- 
ing down that narrow trail. Occasionally his eyes 
would become so blurred that he had to take a gen- 
eral survey of the surrounding country to relieve 
his strained muscles. There was not a sound in the 
woods. It was that period which is a sort of “no 
man’s land ” in the daily program, the time when 
life seems at its lowest ebb, when the sinister noises 
of the night have ceased and the songs of the morn- 
ing have not yet begun. 

Slowly the sky began to pale and the birds began 
to move restlessly in the trees. Almost before they 
2 7 ° 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


could fully realize it the world was wide awake. 
The light grew stronger and stronger till the real 
sunlight was visible spreading fanlike up from the 
eastern horizon. 

“ Well,” Sturgis said nervously, stretching him- 
self, “ if they are coming it is pretty near time for 
them to be here.” He peered out through the 
bushes toward the camp and immediately jerked his 
head back violently. “ By George, there comes 
Newman, now,” he exclaimed excitedly. “ Don’t 
make a sound, whatever happens.” 

From their hiding place in the bushes they could 
see a man making his way rapidly up the hill. He 
was coming almost directly towards them. It 
seemed as though he must feel those burning eyes, 
for on the brow of the hill he stopped and looked 
suspiciously around him. His eyes traveled search- 
ingly over the ground. 

Suddenly there was a crash in the swamp below, 
followed instantly by a cry like the bleat of a 
frightened sheep. It so startled the tense nerves 
in the bushes that they surely would have been be- 
trayed had it not affected the newcomer so much 
more. At that sound he threw caution to the winds 
and bounded down the hill, crashing through the 
brush like a moose. 


271 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ What was that noise ? ” Scott whispered. 

“ A deer in the snare,” Sturgis said. “ Come on. 
Don’t make any noise unless he runs, and then after 
him.” 

They crept stealthily down the hillside, keeping 
under cover as much as possible but relying mostly 
on the deer’s occupying the poacher’s attention. 
They did not have far to go, for the snare was not 
over a hundred yards from their hiding place. Be- 
fore they had covered half the distance they could 
catch glimpses of Newman through the brush vainly 
struggling with the deer. The noose had caught 
it around the body just in front of the hind legs 
and suspended it clear of the ground. It was 
thrashing the air violently with its front feet and 
blatting in the frenzy of despair. Newman tried 
at first to cut its throat, but found it impossible to 
get past those murderous feet. He was just turn- 
ing to cut a club when he saw his pursuers not over 
thirty yards away. 

The boys in their tennis shoes had easily dis- 
tanced Sturgis. When they saw that their approach 
was discovered they bounded ahead with an exultant 
shout. Each picked his own way through the 
swamp, and neither thought of anything save the 
flying figure ahead of him. They were both good 
272 



He waved his knife threateningly, and tried to warn Scott off. 












SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


runners but fear lent wings to the feet of the fugi- 
tive and he knew the swamp better than they. They 
fell through holes in the sphagnum and went sprawl- 
ing. Had Newman stuck to the swamp he might 
have out-distanced them, but at the north boundary 
he took to the firebreak and started eastward over 
the ridge. The boys came out on the solid ground 
fifty yards behind him. 

“ Now we’ve got him.” Scott hissed between his 
teeth, and he shot away over the hard ground at a 
terrific pace. Greenleaf’s breath was coming in 
gasps, but Scott’s endurance was standing him in 
good stead. They closed on the poacher at every 
jump and were already within twenty yards of him 
when a frightened glance over his shoulder told 
him that he had no chance in the open road. 
He turned suddenly into the dense brush and 
dodged like a jack rabbit. Greenleaf caught his 
toe on a fallen log and went crashing out of the 
race. 

Finding only one man behind him and that man 
almost within striking distance Newman turned at 
bay. But he was so exhausted that he could hardly 
stand. He waved his knife threateningly, and 
tried to warn Scott off, but his hot breath choked 
him. 


273 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ Better give it up, old man,” Scott said, eying 
him coolly. “You’re all in.” 

The man swayed unsteadily, and gasped what was 
meant to be a threat. 

“ Come,” Scott commanded, taking a step for- 
ward, " drop that knife and be sensible.” He 
snatched up a stick and advanced resolutely. The 
man still waved the knife sullenly. With one quick 
blow of the stick Scott sent the knife flying and 
almost at the same instant felled the man with a 
left to the jaw. Greenleaf came up panting, and 
the man showed no further signs of fight. Scott 
secured the knife as a trophy of the chase. 

“ Now get up and come along sensibly,” Scott 
commanded. 

Neither Greenleaf nor the poacher had sufficient 
breath left to talk and they made their way out to 
the road in silence. It was not till then that either 
of them noticed that Sturgis was not with them or 
even in sight on the road. 

“ We certainly could not have lost him,” Scott 
exclaimed. 

“ Maybe he twisted a leg in that swamp,” 
Greenleaf suggested. “ I came near it several 
times.” 

As they hurried along they were surprised to find 
274 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


how far they had come. They had covered a good 
half-mile after they left the swamp. 

“ No wonder I was so pesky winded,” Greenleaf 
said, as they made their way slowly along the hill- 
side. “ That’s the farthest I have run since the 
bear chased me in Montana. Here’s that deer trail. 
We can cross the swamp now.” 

The swamp was very narrow and before they had 
gone four rods Newman stopped with a gasp. The 
boys followed his frightened stare and horror almost 
paralyzed them for an instant. Then they burst 
into roars of laughter in which Newman joined 
maliciously. There, only a short distance ahead of 
them, was Sturgis, suspended by one foot from a 
deer snare so that only his head and shoulders rested 
comfortably in the soft moss. They were afraid 
at first that he was badly hurt, but the sheepish look 
of humiliation was too much for their gravity. 
Ten feet beyond, the deer was still struggling on an- 
other wire. 

“ Are you — ” Scott began, but burst into another 
uncontrollable fit of laughter. “ Are you hurt, 
Sturgis?” he managed to get out between the ex- 
plosions. 

“ Nothing but my feelings,” Sturgis answered 
dryly. “ Bend that sapling down a minute. There. 
275 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

I see now why you set two of these things, New- 
man,” he added as he waved his leg cautiously 
around to see if it would work. 

“ Why didn’t you yell ? ” Greenleaf asked. 

“ Well, at first I was too astonished to yell and 
then I was afraid that if I did you would stop and 
let Newman get away. I wanted you pretty badly 
anyway, Newman, and I wouldn’t have had you get 
away after this for twice the fine.” 

Even the mention of the fine could not suppress 
the grin on Newman’s face. When they had suffi- 
ciently recovered they turned their attention to the 
deer. It was no easy task to get him down. He 
was somewhat tired by the long struggle but still 
promised an awful punishment to anyone who might 
try to touch him. 

Newman had become resigned to his fate and was 
beginning to enjoy the situation. “ I put him up 
there,” he chuckled, “now let’s see you get him 
down.” He sat down on a log to see the fun. 

Greenleaf came to the rescue as usual, “ I’ll climb 
the tree and cut off the top. Then we can handle 
him.” 

Cutting off the top was a simple proposition but 
the “ handling ” was more complicated. For a mo- 
ment it looked as though there were at least twenty 
276 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

deer. The air seemed to be full of them and it was 
not safe to go near. Greenleaf could not even get 
down out of the tree. But such violent antics could 
not last long in the dense brush. In a very few 
minutes the deer was completely tangled up in the 
wire and lay panting in a clump of alders unable to 
get up. Cautiously Sturgis sneaked up from be- 
hind and unfastened the wire loop. Scott, ventur- 
ing a little too close had his trousers slit from the 
knee to the ankle with one vicious blow of that 
delicate front foot. 

For an instant — and only an instant — the deer 
did not realize that it was free. Then with one 
bound it landed squarely on all four feet, cleared 
the clump of alders as lightly as a puff of smoke, 
and bounced away up the ridge the white tail wav- 
ing defiance. 

The progress home was slow — for Sturgis’ leg 
was rather badly wrenched — but they managed to 
get there just as the boys were coming down from 
breakfast and their advent into camp was, if pos- 
sible, more triumphant than when they had cap- 
tured the bear. 


CHAPTER XIX 


T HE days in camp had come to an end, come 
insensibly to an end, for time had glided 
so swiftly from one event to another that it 
was almost impossible to believe that those four 
months, which had seemed so long in the spring, 
had actually gone. 

It was about seven o’clock in the morning when 
the canoes put out slowly from the boathouse, one 
by one, and assembled in a little compact fleet just 
outside the swimming raft ready for the seven- 
hundred-mile trip down the river. When the last 
had joined the fleet there was a mighty whole- 
hearted yell for the old camp, before they all shot 
away together toward the river. The yell was an- 
swered by the one lonely scream of a loon. 

There was many a lingering backward look as 
long as the camp was in sight, but once in the shal- 
low river they were soon too busy to think of it. 
The river was low, and the mighty Father of Waters 
was in many places unable to float the little fleet. 
They frequently had to resort to towlines and it was 
278 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


noon before they passed the mouth of Sucker Brook 
and La Salle, where they had comparatively deep 
water. Even then progress was slow, for the lum- 
bermen had blocked the river in many places with 
splash dams to enable them to drive their logs. 
Night caught them less than half way to Bemidji. 

“ And that,” Bill Price said as he looked back up 
the narrow river of shallow water, “ is one of the 
largest rivers in the world. It certainly looks as 
though it would have to grow some.” 

Ten miles above Bemidji the next afternoon they 
ran onto the remnant of the spring drive and had 
to pick their way through the bobbing logs with 
care. It was slow work and not over safe, but they 
persevered till late in the evening and finally camped 
on the shore of Lake Bemidji. 

From there on the going was better. The pad- 
dlers changed places every half hour to utilize the 
third man, the portages became less frequent and 
the little line of canoes slipped rapidly down the 
river and into Cass Lake. In the center of the lake 
they saw a beautiful pine-covered, star-shaped island 
which they recognized from the stories they had 
heard of it. They stopped there for lunch and had 
a look at the pretty little lake in the center of it 
believed by the Indians to be the home of the 
279 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

Windigo, or Indian devil. No one of the native 
Indians would for any consideration consent to 
spend a night on the island. Whatever the charac- 
ter of the Windigo he certainly knew how to pick 
out a beautiful home. 

Early the next morning they came to the entrance 
of Lake Winnibigoshish only to find themselves 
blocked by an unexpected obstacle. The stiff breeze 
had lashed the shallow water into a tangle of white- 
capped waves in which a canoe would have led a 
very precarious life even if there had been no other 
danger. But the rough water was only a very small 
part of it. The lake had been very greatly enlarged 
by a high government dam which had caused the 
backed-up waters to spread over several square miles 
of forest. This flooding had killed all the trees in 
the overflowed area and left half the lake dotted 
with dead stubs, some rising high above the surface, 
others lurking treacherously just out of sight. 
This made it absolutely unsafe for any boat except 
on a perfectly quiet day and even then a sharp 
lookout was necessary. 

It was very exasperating to see that great ex- 
panse of water, looking to them like a broad parade 
ground, after the crooked lane of the river, and 
yet not be able to venture across it. For two days 
280 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


they lolled around camp waiting impatiently while 
the wind blew steadily. 

That evening Merton was goaded to desperation. 
“ You fellows can do as you please/’ he said de- 
terminedly, “ but I am going to cross that lake to- 
morrow at sunrise. It ought to be smooth at that 
time of day, but I am going if she is standing 
straight on end.” 

“ Well,” Bill said suavely, “ of course it does not 
matter much about your drowning yourself, but it 
would be a pity to smash up that canoe.” 

“ It’s an old one,” Merton laughed, “ and I’ve 
used it long enough.” 

“ I’ll go with you,” Scott announced resolutely ; 
“ that’s no place for a man to go alone.” 

“ Oh, I am not going alone. Our whole boat is 
agreed on it.” 

“ Then we’ll all go,” Bill said, “ you fellows have 
no monopoly on the sand in this lake.” 

So it came about that the rising sun found the 
five canoes threading their way cautiously out 
among the sunken trees toward the open water. 
The sea was a little choppy, but the boys figured 
that they could make it across before the wind came 
up. Once in the deep water they drove steadily 
ahead, eager for the shelter of the opposite shore. 

48i 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


It was a tremendous lake and seemed, now that they 
were in the middle of it, larger than it had before. 

At nine o’clock the wind began to rise perceptibly. 
They were still some miles from shore and getting 
into the submerged timber again. There were 
many narrow escapes, but the light canoes seemed 
to bear charmed lives and grazed impudently past 
those cruel black stubs. 

The boys had missed so many of them that they 
became indifferent to the danger. Suddenly there 
was a vicious rending sound as a sharp dead tama- 
rack pierced the bottom of Morris’s boat as though 
it had been an eggshell, narrowly missing Bill 
Price, who was third man in that boat. Quick as 
a flash Bill broke off the stub with one savage kick 
and pressed a tent fly tightly down on the break. 

“Need help?” Merton called as the other canoes 
closed in. 

“ Not yet,” Bill answered quietly. “ Now, Mor- 
ris, you and Steve paddle for shore as tight as you 
can go while I hold down this pack and bail for 
it.” 

The canoe went swiftly on while Bill, seated on 
the pack, built a small coffer-dam around himself 
with blankets and bailed out the water with a quart 
cup. It rose steadily in spite of his best efforts and 
282 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


began to ooze over the dam. It seemed only a mat- 
ter of minutes before the canoe would sink. They 
were making pretty good time, taking chances on 
not striking any more stubs and rapidly shortening 
the distance to shore. 

At the end of ten minutes the canoe was pretty 
low in the water. “ I can’t make it, fellows,” Bill 
panted. " Get Mert to tow us and all three of us 
can keep it down easily.” 

They cast a line to the nearest canoe, Merton’s, 
and all three plied the bailing cups. Slowly the 
water began to go down and the canoe floated 
higher. 

“ I’ll try paddling again,” Morris said. “ You 
and Steve can keep her down, I guess.” 

This arrangement greatly increased the speed and 
the two bailers managed to keep the water down. 
At last they scraped on the solid ground. 

“ There,” Bill said as they scrambled ashore and 
pulled up the disabled canoe, “ I feel better now. I 
kept thinking how unpleasant it would be if I had 
to swim ashore with one of those sharp stubs punc- 
turing my stomach the way it did that canoe. I 
had a hunch that it would do it, too.” 

The other canoes came safely through and every- 
one gathered around to see the damage. It proved 
283 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

to be an easy hole to patch and the little procession 
was soon on its way down the river. 

“ I suppose it was a foolish thing to do/’ Merton 
said, “ but I’m glad we did it. That wind is just 
ripping again and there is no telling when we should 
have gotten across.” 

The rest of the river was easy traveling and the 
rapid current helped them along wonderfully. 
There were a few rapids which they shot success- 
fully, a few dams where they had to portage and 
one or two places where the logs were so thick that 
they had trouble in picking their way through them, 
but most of the time it was plain sailing. 

Among the most interesting sights along the river 
to them was the big paper mill at Little Falls. They 
knew that they would have the process to study in 
their course in by-products the next semester, and 
took the opportunity to see it first hand. Merton 
interviewed the manager and found him very ready 
to show them through the whole factory. They 
found that he had made a canoe trip part way down 
the river himself at one time, and was very much 
interested in their adventures. 

The manager invited them to spend the evening 
at his home, but they had not spent a night in a 
town since they started and resolved not to do so. 

284 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


They thanked him heartily and took to their canoes. 

There were very few obstructions in the river be- 
low Little Falls and by putting in long hours they 
made wonderful time. On the evening of the sec- 
ond day they sighted the lights of Minneapolis. 

“ The town looks good to us now, fellows,” Mer- 
ton said, “ but we have left the best summer of our 
lives behind us.” 

" You bet we have,” was the answering chorus, 
and for a moment the little group looked silently 
and wistfully at each other before they scattered 
their several ways. 


CHAPTER XX 


T WO weeks later the old Itasca crowd was 
assembled on the campus and beginning the 
routine of the classroom once again. It 
was easy to pick them out anywhere among the 
students. Their sunburned faces and the independ- 
ent, self-reliant air drilled into them by the life of 
the camp, together with the strong bond of fellow- 
ship which made them flock together, work together 
and loaf together made them the natural leaders. 

They had done things and knew what they could 
do; they had borne responsibility and were un- 
frightened by it; they had worked out the problem 
of governing themselves all summer and readily ap- 
plied their experience to the governing of others. 
In addition to all that they were the senior class. 
It was only natural that they should control all the 
politics in the college and be the nucleus around 
which all the college activities formed. They 
neither dictated nor grabbed, but their influence was 
irresistible. 

The new semester brought them new courses of 
286 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


study: forest management, lumbering, forest by- 
products, wood preservation and forest law. The 
work was practically all technical now. Among 
these studies Scott found in lumbering an all-ab- 
sorbing interest. The other subjects he liked well 
enough, but of the lumbering he could not get too 
much. 

Scott was sorely disappointed to find that John- 
son had not returned to college. With his usual 
luck that young man had gained the confidence of 
a big lumberman with whom he had come in con- 
tact in the course of his duties as patrolman and had 
been given charge of the logging inspection in some 
of the northern camps. He was staying out a year 
for the experience. The greater Scott’s success be- 
came, the more keenly he felt his debt to Johnson. 
It seemed as though fate were spitefully keeping 
them apart. Several times he had thought of writ- 
ing but somehow that seemed cowardly and he had 
decided to wait. 

The weeks slipped by comparatively uneventfully. 
The seniors had struck their stride and felt that 
they were coming down the home stretch of a pro- 
fessional course ; the outside events which had 
formerly meant so much to them were incidental 
now, and their real interest lay in the work. 

287 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


Christmas was almost come — the second Christ- 
mas since Scott had left his quiet New England 
home — and the boy longed to go back there to see 
the old folks. He had at one time made up his 
mind to go, but on more mature reflection decided 
that it could not be. He knew that he would better 
go to the woods and put in all the time he could in 
the lumber camps. 

Scott realized that most of the men had more 
woods experience than he. Moreover, the men in 
his class would spend the month of January in the 
lumber camps while he, on account of irregularities 
in his course, could not leave the college at that 
time. If he was to see anything of the lumbering 
operations in that section he must do it in the 
Christmas vacation. 

Thus it happened that the Saturday before 
Christmas found Scott traveling northward towards 
the logging camps with no other companion than 
Greenleaf who had decided to accompany him. 

It was really a long trip. It did not seem long, 
however, till they alighted on a short platform 
where the train left them, the only living creatures 
in sight. 

“ Prosperous looking place,” Greenleaf com- 
mented, as he looked out over a broad expanse of 
288 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

brush-dotted snow to where a line of timber loomed 
against the sky. 

“ Pleasant place to be put off at night,” Scott 
said. “ I wonder where that mail carrier is the old 
man told us about? ” 

As though the question had called him to view, 
a tall gaunt pacer whisked out of a tamarack swamp 
on the other side of the track, jerking a light cutter 
over the bumpy trail at a tremendous pace. He 
seemed to be going wherever he liked and it re- 
quired quite a stretch of the imagination to 
conceive that the man in the sleigh was driving 
him. 

“You from camp No. n?” Greenleaf asked, 
when the gaunt horse had consented to stop for a 
minute. 

" Yes,” the man growled between his teeth, as he 
tried to hold the horse. 

^Mr. Grafton told us to go out with you,” Green- 
leaf said, throwing in the mail sack and climbing in 
after it. Scott jumped in the back and the horse 
started with a plunge. 

“ Seems like a lively horse,” Scott said, as he 
hung on for dear life while the horse jerked the 
sleigh along in a series of lunges over the poorly 
covered corduroy. 


289 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ He ain’t goin’ none yet,” the man growled ; 
“ wait till we get off this corduroy.” 

At last the bumping ceased and the sleigh slid 
lightly over a smooth road. “ Now git, if you 
must,” the driver said, slackening his hold on the 
lines. The plunging ceased instantly as the big 
horse stretched himself to a steady, swinging pace 
and shot up the road like an arrow. The snow- 
balls from his hoofs pelted them in a shower and 
the zero wind cut like a knife. For a good mile 
the pace never slackened or faltered. From there 
on the road was bad and they had to go slowly but 
there was no more plunging. The big fellow had 
had his go and was satisfied. 

“ Gee,” Greenleaf said admiringly, “ that’s some 
horse.” 

“ That’s the fastest I’ve ever traveled behind a 
horse,” Scott said, as he rubbed his chilled hands 
and face. 

“ The boss keeps him here in the winter,” the man 
said proudly ; “ he’s a racer.” 

The praise of the horse had mellowed the surly 
driver and the remainder of the five miles to camp 
passed pleasantly enough. 

To Scott the low lying, snow-covered huts of the 
camp were a revelation. He felt completely at a 
290 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


loss. Stables, bunkhouses, cookshack, office and 
shops; they all looked alike with the single ex- 
ception of size. None of them looked like a 
house. 

“ Where’s the foreman ? ” Greenleaf asked. 

“ In the office, probably,” the man said. 

Greenleaf started for the office as though he had 
been in that camp all his life. The office, as in all 
camps, was a combination of wanigan, or store, 
and office. In there they found the foreman patch- 
ing up some torn harness. He did not seem to see 
them come in, and paid not the slightest attention 
to them; he still busied himself with the harness. 
Greenleaf leaned carelessly against the counter 
watching the operation. When this had continued 
for about five minutes Scott began to wonder why 
Greenleaf did not present the letter they had brought, 
but he waited patiently, feeling his greenness. 

At the end of about ten minutes the foreman 
straightened up to have a look at them. Green- 
leaf, who knew the breed perfectly, continued to 
look at the harness in silence as though it were the 
most interesting thing he had ever seen. The fore- 
man looked him quietly over for several minutes 
before he gruffly demanded, 

" What do you want ? 99 
291 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ I have a letter for you from the boss,” Green- 
leaf said, handing it over. 

The foreman read it carefully, and then without 
looking up, “ Go over to the cookshack and get 
lunch.” 

The boys went out. “ I thought I could make 
him talk first,” Greenleaf chuckled. 

“ What were you waiting for?” Scott asked. 

“ Never speak to one of those fellows first,” 
Greenleaf admonished him. “If we had piped 
right up as soon as we went in there he would have 
kept us waiting an hour before he read that letter. 
Now he knows we’re not greenhorns and respects 
us.” 

Going into the cookshack was a good deal like 
going down a cellar. There were only four small 
windows which shed a very dim light over the big 
room. Down the center were two long oilcloth- 
covered tables set with about a hundred tin cups and 
tin plates with knives and forks to match. Sugar 
and spoons were found in tomato cans at intervals. 
About every six feet there was an immense salt 
shaker, a bottle of vinegar and a bottle of catsup. 

At the end of these tables under a skylight was 
an enormous kitchen range with two barrels rigged 
up for hot water boilers and flanked by a big sink 
292 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


and a sort of serving counter. On one side was a 
giant breadboard built in over the flour bin. It 
was the strangest looking dining-room Scott had 
ever seen. 

Greenleaf nodded to the cook, a fat man in a 
white apron who was leaning against one of the 
tables. 

“ Can we get a hand-out? ” he asked. 

A grunt was the only response, but Greenleaf 
walked familiarly to the counter, pulled a box out 
from under it and selected some cookies. He un- 
earthed another box containing some doughnuts, 
bread from another and soon had quite a collection. 
As soon as the cook saw they knew the ropes he 
warmed up immediately. “ You’ll find the coffee 
and tea on the back of the stove, boys, and there’s 
some pie on the shelf. Beans are in the oven and 
some meat in the safe.” On the whole they had 
a pretty good lunch. 

When they returned to the office they found the 
foreman waiting for them. The fact that they had 
not been thrown out by the cook increased his re- 
spect for them — for the cook is the real autocrat 
of the logging camp. 

“ The boss says to give you fellows whatever you 
want. What is it ? ” 


293 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ Board and lodging for two weeks,” Greenleaf 
answered promptly. “We want to look over the 
work here and see how things are done.” 

“ Want me to show you around ? ” the foreman 
asked tentatively. Those were the instructions in 
the letter, and he did not like the prospect. 

“ No,” Greenleaf said, “ we can take care of our- 
selves.” 

The foreman looked relieved. “ You can get 
your meals at the cookshack and sleep here in the 
office in that upper bunk ; you’d get full of varmints 
in the bunkhouse.” 

With that he left them, glad to get away. 

“ Let’s look around the camp,” Greenleaf sug- 
gested. “We won’t have time to do anything else 
before dinner. They eat about half past eleven.” 

“ Why not let the foreman show us around ? ” 
Scott asked. “ We’d see more.” 

“He’ll do it better if he don’t have to,” Green- 
leaf answered. “ That letter probably told him to 
do it. A foreman hates that kind of thing unless it 
is a big lumberman who wants to see things.” 

They glanced into the bunkhouse. It was almost 
dark — for there were only two small windows — 
and the view was rather hazy. The walls all along 
both sides and one end were lined with a double 
294 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


row of bunks filled with musty straw and some 
filthy blankets. A large round-house stove stood 
in the center of the room and suspended on wires 
around it were three rows of rusty looking socks. 
The air was anything but pure. 

“ That’s what you miss by sleeping in the office,” 
Greenleaf said, as they backed out. “ And you’re 
missing a lot more that you don’t see. I’ve tried 
it. It’s not so bacf when you get used to it, but 
it’s no fun getting used to it.” 

Scott shuddered as he thought of it. “ These 
lumberjacks must be a tough lot,” he said. 

“ Wait till you see them. They are not the old 
time lumberjacks you read about. They’re the 
scum of Europe. You’ll hear a dozen languages 
in that cookshack if the cook does not knock them 
in the head with the rolling pin.” 

They had made the round of the stables where 
they had a long talk with the barn boss on the cost 
and methods of feeding, and had held a short con- 
ference with the saw filer when Scott was startled 
by a peculiar sound. He found it was the cookee 
blowing a long tin horn to call the men to dinner. 
It sounded dismal enough then, but many a time 
after that when he had been in the woods all day 
it seemed like the sweetest kind of music. 

295 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


In a few minutes the men began to stream into 
camp — Finns, Swedes, Poles, Norwegians, an oc- 
casional Austrian and a few of other nationalities. 
It was certainly a motley crew. Their mackinaws 
were the only thing about them that presented any 
appearance of uniformity. That and their shape, 
for the habit of keeping warm by putting on layer 
after layer of flannel shirts, gave them all a more 
or less stout and stubby appearance. Their rub- 
bers, worn over two or three pairs of thick woolen 
socks, crunched sullenly in the dry snow. They 
filed silently into the bunkhouse and at another toot 
of the horn poured out again into the cookshack. 

The boys hurried into the cookshack with the 
rest and were assigned seats next to the foreman. 
There was no time lost. The men piled their tin 
plates high and emptied them with astonishing 
rapidity. The dozen languages that Greenleaf had 
predicted were certainly there, but were not in evi- 
dence, for a sign “ No Talking ” backed up by a 
determined-looking cook acted as a damper on con- 
versation. Hardly a word was spoken. In five 
minutes some of the most expert had emptied their 
tin plates twice and were filing out. 

In the afternoon they went to the woods and 
followed the operation, from the stump to the land- 
296 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


in g. They watched the great towering pines, 
sawed off the stump and wedged over, come smash- 
ing down wherever the sawyers willed them to fall. 
They saw them cut into logs and the logs rolled 
onto little single sleds, with the back ends dragging 
in the snow and saw them hauled over the skidroads 
to the ice-coated logging road and piled on the skid- 
ways. They saw those skidways dwindle as the 
logs were piled high on the broad bunks of the log- 
ging sleds and hauled away, forty tons at a load, 
over the ice road to the river bank where they were 
rolled on the ice to await the spring floods which 
would carry them away to the mills hundreds of 
miles down the river, or, as in another part of the 
tract, hauled to the railroad track to be carried 
directly to the mill by rail. 

It was on the last day of their stay that Scott 
suddenly and unexpectedly blossomed out into the 
hero of the whole camp. He and Greenleaf walked 
five miles over to the next camp to see the steam 
log loader, or jammer, which was working there. 
It was located on a steep side hill where the logs, 
piled high on the upper side of the track, were 
swung across onto the cars. On the other side of 
the track the ground sloped away steeply. 

While they were watching the big machine Scott 
297 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


thought he recognized something familiar about a 
man who was working further down the slope 
locating a new skidroad. He knew he had seen 
those quick, cat-like motions before. He left 
Greenleaf and started down there. Before he had 
gone half way he recognized Johnson. 

Suddenly there was a shout from the jammer, a 
cry of warning. Johnson was evidently so accus- 
tomed to the general clamor that he did not look 
around, but Scott, who was a little nervous in these 
strange surroundings, turned instantly. 

An enormous log which was being swung onto 
the car had broken loose from the iron clutches of 
the jammer, dropped over the down-hill side of the 
car and was sweeping sideways with the speed of 
an arrow directly toward Johnson. It was almost 
on him. An instant’s delay meant sure death. The 
men on the jammer stood horrified and helpless. 

Scott saw that Johnson could not be made to 
understand in time to jump. Shouting at him 
would do no good; before he could comprehend it 
would be too late. Scott took the only chance left 
to him, poor as it seemed. To the horror of the 
workmen he jumped directly in the course of the 
log and striking Johnson full in the chest with all 
the power of his practiced right arm, he jumped 
298 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


wildly straight in the air. The huge log swished 
under him, striking his feet as it went and bringing 
him down heavily on his head. 

Scott struggled quickly to his feet and looked 
half-dazed toward Johnson. Before he could see 
what had happened he felt himself in Greenleaf’s 
arms and knew from the cheers of the men on the 
jammer that his blow had carried Johnson out of 
danger. He needed Greenleaf’s support for his 
knees kept doubling up under him and a cold sweat 
had broken out all over his body. 

Johnson rose slowly and looked down the slope 
after the log. Then he turned and recognized 
Scott. 

“ By George, Scotty,” he cried, grasping Scott’s 
hand warmly, “ how did you come here? You 
surely saved my life that time and risked your own 
to do it. Hello, Greenleaf.” 

“ Are you hurt?” Scott asked anxiously. 

“Only in the chest,” Johnson answered with a 
grin. “ I see my training did you some good.” 

“We are making a lumber report on camp n,” 
Scott said, “ and came over to see the jammer. 
I did not know you were here, but thought I recog- 
nized you and came down to see.” 

“ Good thing for me that you did.” 

299 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ I found out long ago what a mucker I made 
of myself last fall and have been longing for a 
chance to apologize, but something always inter- 
fered. Now I am going to get it out before any- 
thing stops me. I have made good ever since you 
called me down, and I owe it all to you. I was 
ashamed of myself at the time, but was too big a 
coward to tell you so.” 

“ And now,” Johnson laughed, “ you have far 
more than squared the account by knocking me 
down and probably breaking two or three ribs. 
Forget it. I acted only for your good, knew 
what I would get from the start and was never 
sore about it. Let’s go to the camp.” 

They talked until late in the afternoon, when 
Scott and Greenleaf had to return to camp n. 
They said good-bye to Johnson with many regrets 
and left in the minds of the lumberjacks a feeling 
of respect such as they had never before felt for 
a college man. The news of the rescue had 
reached camp n ahead of them and Scott was 
flattered at every turn. This flattery meant little 
to him, for he knew from experience how little it 
was worth, but he was delighted over his recon- 
ciliation with Johnson. He had not realized what 
a burden he had been carrying. 

300 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


The next morning they went to the train behind 
the old pacer feeling well repaid for their trip. 
The foreman himself had come out to bid them 
good-bye. 

The journey home was a pleasant one for Scott. 
He had carried out one of his resolutions and placed 
himself once more on an honest footing with John- 
son. Moreover, he felt convinced that he had 
picked responsible companions. Merton, Green- 
leaf and Johnson, he thought, were certainly above 
reproach. The only thing that worried him was 
whether the sterling qualities which he knew so 
well would appeal to his father’s Eastern viewpoint. 
He remembered how he had regarded them when 
he first came West, and he had some misgivings. 


CHAPTER XXI 


S COTT realized that the trip to the lumber 
camps had been the most instructive three 
weeks that he had ever spent. Every 
minute of the time he had been learning something 
new, some detail of logging, some new phase of 
woods life, some new trait of lumberjack character. 
At the same time he had been so interested that it 
had seemed more like a pleasure trip than a required 
part of the school course. He felt that he could 
have spent the whole winter right there in that camp 
and enjoyed it all. 

He returned to the college fresh, rested and 
ready for the hardest grind of his life. The Civil 
Service examinations were only two months away 
and on these examinations depended his appoint- 
ment in the Government service, and the fulfill- 
ment of his father’s condition. In this it meant 
far more to him than to any of the others. The 
field covered was enormous and Scott felt that it 
was simply a matter of steady grinding to get over 
as much of the ground as he possibly could. He 
302 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


apportioned his time carefully to the different sub- 
jects and prepared to put in thirteen hours a 
day. 

He knew that there would be many questions 
which would be a mere matter of judgment, and on 
those he did not waste his time ; but there would be 
many others which would call for facts and those * 
facts he proposed to master. 

The weeks passed by monotonously enough. 
There was no variation, no change from the set 
routine. The other members of the class were 
working spasmodically but they had not tied them- 
selves down to such gruelling work. 

Johnson astonished Scott by coming to town two 
weeks before the examination and announcing that 
he was going to test the value of his experience by 
taking the examination, and seeing what he could 
do with it. He followed the lines of Scott’s work 
pretty carefully and in the hour which they devoted 
to discussion every evening he managed to collect 
most of the points that had been unearthed during 
the day. 

At last the day for the great trial arrived. It 
was to last for two days of seven hours each; two 
unbroken periods of seven long hours. 

They went down to the post office where the 
303 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

ordeal was to take place. “ I feel like a sausage/' 
Johnson said. “ I’m stuffed so tight that I can’t 
shut my eyes comfortably.” 

“ I feel worse than that,” Scott answered. “ I 
feel as though I had been stuffed so tight that I 
had burst somewhere and all the stuffing was run- 
ning out. If I don’t get hold of those questions 
pretty quick I’ll forget my name.” 

“ I’ve already forgotten my name,” Johnson said, 
“ but I think it is Dennis.” 

They were quickly seated in the great silent room 
with eight others, all in a great state of nervous 
excitement. At the first stroke of nine the first set 
of papers was handed out and they were off with 
a rush. 

Scott never had a very clear idea of those two 
days except that he wrote on and on incessantly 
and was not in the least rattled when he had once 
begun to write. 

“ Well,” Johnson said, when the two days’ trial 
was over and they were settled comfortably in 
Scott’s room, “ they bowled me over on some of 
that German stuff, but I think that I hit the most 
of it pretty hard. That grubbing around I did last 
summer helped me a lot and I fairly killed that 
lumbering.” 


304 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ I'm not going to speculate,” Scott said, “ but 
it seemed easy to me. That’s when a fellow flunks 
the worst, when it seems easy.” 

“It was good practice, anyway,” Johnson said; 
“ I would not take a job yet if I could get it. I 
know better what I ought to study next year, and 
that is what I took it for.” 

So the great event for which they had been work- 
ing so hard for two months was laid away on the 
shelf and Scott settled down to his lighter schedule. 
The rest of his class went away to the Forest Ex- 
periment Station at Cloquet, but Scott’s irregular 
course forced him to stay at the College. He put 
in his spare time reading along those lines and when 
his class work was over, June i, went up there for 
a week. 

The other men came down about that time so 
he had a week alone with the director of the sta- 
tion. The experience opened up a new line of 
thought to him. He had studied the growth and 
learned the characteristics of trees; here he found 
exact scientific experiments to discover the facts 
which controlled that growth and formed those 
characteristics. It was a fascinating field, espe- 
cially the study of all the instruments which were 
used to wrest from nature the answers to the 
305 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

pertinent questions which the practical work sug- 
gested. 

Scott would have liked to stay longer at the Sta- 
tion, but it was time for commencement, and after 
that he was going home. That overshadowed 
everything now. The solemn rites of commence- 
ment, and even the almost sacred last meeting of 
the old Itasca corporation, were dimmed by the 
visions of the home which he had not seen for two 
long years. 

The last ringing cheers of the old corporation 
had scarcely died away when he was on a train 
traveling all too slowly eastward. The states crept 
by very slowly, but on the second day he found 
himself in the Berkshire hills and felt that he was 
almost home. 

No sooner had the train stopped than he was out 
and up the village street. He had not told them 
what train he would take and no one was at the 
station to meet him. He felt that he would rather 
not meet them at the station anyway. Everything 
about the village looked so quiet, and peaceful, and 
old. 

He would not have changed a stick of it for 
all the slurs the Westerners could cast upon its 
sleepiness. 


306 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

About halfway home he met Dick Bradshaw. 
The two boys greeted each other eagerly. 

“ Hello, Scotty,” Dick cried, “ I thought you 
were not expected till tomorrow.” 

“ I’m not,” Scott said, “ but I could not wait any 
longer. It certainly seems good to get back.” 

“ You’ve been away long enough,” Dick growled, 
“ and you have written about like a clam.” 

“ Well, I’ve been too busy to write much, Dick. 
I’ve had the time of my life. I had to work for 
it, but I finished and I’m a full-fledged forester 
now.” 

They were in sight of the house and Scott was 
looking it over eagerly. 

“ I’ll come around to hear about it in the morn- 
ing,” Dick said. 

Scott hardly answered him, for as he opened the 
yard gate he saw his father and mother on the side 
porch. He dropped the suitcase at the gate and 
bounded up the steps and into his mother’s arms. 

“ Mother ! ” he cried. 

She held him silently a moment and then released 
him to allow him to grasp his father warmly by the 
hand. 

“ Welcome home, my boy,” he said quietly; " it’s 
been a long weary time since you left us.” 

307 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

“ It certainly has,” Scott said, “ and I thought 
the train would never get here this time.” 

“ Two long years, Scott,” his mother said, plac- 
ing her hands on his shoulders and looking search- 
ingly into his face, “ but you have not changed a 
bit. I was afraid you would.” 

“ No, mother,” he answered, “ I was pretty 
foolish for about a month, but I got over it. And 
I can tell you all about even that,” he added smil- 
ingly, remembering his mother’s parting advice. 

“ Yes, I believe you could, Scott,” she said, look- 
ing earnestly into his eyes. “ Come in to supper ; 
we have been waiting in hope that you would come. 
There’s some mail here ahead of you.” 

The old dining-room with the old chair in the 
same old place thrilled him with a strange joy. He 
suddenly realized that it was the first private dining- 
room he had been in since he left home. 

He picked up one of the letters beside his plate. 
It was the return from his Civil Service examina- 
tions. He opened it eagerly and his face lighted 
as he read it. 

“ I passed my Civil Service exams,” he said 
modestly, handing the letter to his father. 

“ Ninety-two,” his father cried excitedly, “ and 
you are rated second on the eligible list. Does that 
308 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 

mean that only one man in the United States made 
a better mark ? ” 

“ I suppose so, but only a few of the men in the 
United States took it.” 

“ My boy, Fm proud of you,” his father said, 
grasping his hand. “ And on only two years’ 
work, too. Aren’t you glad, Susan ? ” 

“ Of course I’m glad,” his mother said, looking 
proudly at her son, “ but I’m not surprised. I 
knew he could do it.” 

Scott opened the other letter. It was from the 
Forest Service appointing him to a position in the 
White Mountains at twelve hundred dollars per 
year. He turned it over silently to his mother. 

“ Thank heaven, it’s near home,” she said fer- 
vently. 

“ Mother, do you see that mark of ninety-four 
in lumbering?” he asked, referring to the Civil 
Service sheet again. “ That’s what I learned last 
Christmas when you thought I ought to come 
home.” 

“ I knev/ you were right, Scott, and I’m glad you 
stayed, but it was hard to believe it then.” 

“ Come,” Dr. Burton urged cheerfully, “ let’s eat 
supper if I am not too proud. I never felt so stuck 
up in my life.” 


309 


SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER 


“ And I never felt so happy,” Scott said. “ I 
must wire the news to Johnson.” 

“ Good,” said Dr. Burton ; “ from what you have 
written of that man, Johnson ” — Scott looked up 
anxiously, conscious for the first time since his 
arrival of the great prize that was yet hanging in 
the balance. The first joy of the homecoming had 
driven it completely out of his head — “ he must be 
a remarkable fellow. And many of those others 
that you have mentioned in the past year strike me 
as being especially promising material. I am en- 
tirely satisfied with you, Scotty, and tomorrow you 
shall be the legal owner of that ten-thousand-acre 
forest.” 


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